


light up the path (through a sky full of stars)

by astralscrivener



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chapters Individually Tagged With Warnings, I'm Not Having You Guys Look At A Wall Of Tags, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-20 22:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 49,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: "soulmates are destined to be together in every universe, mullet."or, a series of short oneshots forklance au month: february 2019.





	1. day 1: rise 'n' grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: coffee shop  
> alternate universe: coffee shop, modern, college  
> characters: keith, lance  
> relationships: keith/lance
> 
> in which keith hits the coffee shop before class on friday morning and sees the cute barista.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's play "can i actually survive this month or will i burn out?"
> 
> sher i'm doin this for u
> 
> title taken from a sky full of stars by coldplay bc kl,,, space,,,,, u know, u know

                Like every other Friday, the cute barista at the café is on his shift when Keith walks in at 6:30 AM.

                Keith sets down his bag and stack of books at a booth near the counter and then saunters over, eyes roving the menu like he doesn’t order the same thing every time he comes in. Like the barista doesn’t have it memorized.

                He queues up at the end of the line behind one other person, jams his hands into his pockets and quirks a brow over the shoulder of the girl in front of him as the barista meets his gaze and sends a sunny smile in his direction, before returning attention to his current patron.

                “Hey,” Lance greets with his signature winning grin, casually resting one arm against the counter while his other hand hovers over the keypad at the register. “What can I get for you?”

                The girl takes her time ordering, makes a tiny bit of show scanning the menu. Keith listens to her over-exaggerated sighs of indecision and nearly snorts, because sometimes people just try too hard. For all it’s worth, though, Lance keeps enthusiastic, and pretends like he’s oblivious to her flirting attempts. He waits patiently as she orders, something complicated but not overly-so—not like other people Keith’s listened in on.

                While Lance sets to making the girl’s drink, after she pays, she steps aside. Keith doesn’t mean to look at her phone, but the font is rather large and rather obvious and _accidentally in my line of sight, it’s not my fault,_ and he bites his tongue to press down on his soft snort. Not derisively; she has no idea, so really, she can’t be blamed.

                _so i’m at rise n grind_

_u were right_

_the barista is fucking cute help me_

                _Yeah, he sure is,_ Keith thinks, and this time purses his lips to keep himself from smiling. Lance just has that effect on people; Keith is baffled when someone _doesn’t_ find him attractive, _doesn’t_ find him downright adorable.

                And speaking of the angel himself, Lance turns back around, flashing a starfield of freckles in Keith’s direction before he looks at the girl and raises her drink. She lowers her phone, grins wide as she takes it, and for a moment it’s like Keith’s watching a scene out of a romcom, with the way her fingers brush over Lance’s and she giggles out a _thank you, have a nice day._

                Keith waits a moment, watches her walk out, and then makes sure he and Lance are the only two people left in the café at the early hour; too early for most other students to be in here, especially on a Friday, of all days.

                “Whatcha got there?” Keith asks, tilting his head as he studies Lance, staring at something in his hand.

                Lance smirks and holds up a slip of paper between two of his fingers. “She slid this in and I didn’t even notice.” Between single dollar bills, too small to notice on a first go-around, there’s a purple folded post-it note with a phone number scrawled on it. “Think I can land a date this weekend?”

                “Mmm, maybe,” Keith says. “Not gonna be with her, though.”

                Lance laughs, loud in the quiet of the café. “Alright, flirt. What can I do for _you_ today?”

                Keith smirks right back at him and leans forward on the counter, crosses his legs at the ankle and props himself up on his forearms. “I don’t know, that shortbread _Lahnce-tte_ is lookin’ pretty good.”

                Lance chokes.

                He doubles over with laughter on the other side of the counter, a sound that makes Keith’s heart flutter as he peers at him.

                “How long have you spent on that one?” Lance manages, pulling himself back up with the edge of the granite.

                Keith shugs. “A couple days.”

                “You sounded like Allura, holy shit,” Lance mutters, voice still pitched up with amusement as he rights himself back in front of the register. “For real, though, you want shortbread for a change? Or do you want your regular?”

                Keith mimics the other girl’s over-exaggerated sigh. “As much as shortbread would be interesting, I need my regular. I need to know my coffee won’t taste like shit so I can be alive in class.”

                “I was hoping you’d say that,” Lance says with a wink. “On me this morning.”

                He turns away from the register momentarily and swipes something off of the back counter—Keith’s regular order (iced coffee, hazelnut swirl, two shots of espresso, light cream and heavy sugar, because he’s not a heathen like his brother’s fiancé), prepared ahead of time.

                “You’ve gotta stop buying my coffees for me,” Keith says as he takes it, and lets his fingers linger on top of Lance’s for far longer than the girl did.

                But Lance just smiles and keeps his hand underneath Keith’s touch, uses his free hand to wipe the order from the register.

                “It’s the least I can do for leaving the bed cold every morning,” he says, and then leans forward over the counter. Keith meets him halfway, cups the back of his neck to hold them both steady as their lips press against each others’, soft and warm.

                It’s a warm that spreads through Keith and settles into his bones, a warmth that fights off the early-morning chill. He closes his eyes and lets himself melt, feels Lance do the same on the other side of the counter.

                Lance smells like the café—all coffee beans and breakfast pastry, mixed with his ocean-scented soap still clinging deep to his skin and the taste of his chapstick of the month (blue raspberry, which is apparently a thing, Keith learned far earlier that morning in the haze between dreaming and sleep, when Lance bent down a pressed a soft kiss goodbye on his lips as he left for work).

                “It’s not like you want to,” Keith points out when they pull back. “Gotta pay tuition somehow.”

                Keith takes the coffee into his hand as he thinks about the lazy swirl of Lance’s fingers on his waist this morning, every morning when he has to leave first, and wishes more than anything he could just join Lance behind the counter and skip out on his 8 AM by cuddling with his boyfriend.

                “Gotta provide you with caffeine somehow,” Lance says, and wrinkles his nose as he eyes Keith’s coffee, while Keith slides into one of the seats running along the counter and sips it. “I really don’t understand how you’re drinking an iced coffee in the middle of winter. It’s like, negative two outside right now.”

                “Gay culture,” Keith replies simply, and Lance snorts, turns away and starts making another coffee—probably for himself, and probably not allowed under company policy, if he gets caught. But then again, he and Lance are both very good at not getting caught.

                “You gonna text that girl and tell her you’ve got a boyfriend, or…?” Keith asks.

                “Uh, yeah?” Lance replies like it’s obvious, with a casual glance over his shoulder. “I’m not heartless, Kogane. You of all people should know that, considering it beats for you and you only.”

                “Okay,” Keith says, “ _that_ was worse than my Lahnce-tte line.”

                “Believe what you want, but my line was smooth as fuck and you know it,” Lance retorts as he turns back around with his freshly-made coffee—simple and strong, completely the opposite of how Keith likes his coffee.

                He flicks his eyes to the shop door, but no one’s coming in, no one’s approaching as far as the windows let on, so he leans forward on the counter again. Keith indulges him; he presses their foreheads together and watches Lance’s eyes flutter closed and the ends of his mouth tug up.

                “Save me a seat in Calc?” he murmurs, while Keith reaches a hand out and traces a thumb over Lance’s cheekbone.

                “Like you even have to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 3:30 AM time to Sleeb


	2. day 2: if you're in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: galtean klance  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent sometime during s3 prior to kuron's appearance  
> characters: keith, lance; mentions of allura, coran, pidge, hunk, lotor  
> relationships: keith/lance
> 
> in which lance and keith deal with a proposal offered by lotor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "eileen why is this canon-divergent if the prompt is galtean--"
> 
> i do what i want

                Lance can’t ignore the markings in the mirror.

                _“Swear to secrecy. Right now!”_

_“Lance—”_

_“If you tell a_ soul _I will smash Killbot Phantasm III and you can count on it.”_

_“Fine, fine, I won’t say a thing!”_

                He can’t ignore the looks from Pidge when the team discusses the possible options for a way to end the war with the Galra. Not when several Galra commanders have insinuated this war is merely a continuation of the conflict between the Alteans and the Galra from ten thousand years ago. Not when Prince Lotor’s offered up a viable solution that doesn’t seem... _overly terrible._ Merely infuriating and rather nauseating at worst.

                _“If there were to be a marriage, between the Galra and the Alteans...I believe the war could end swiftly, with two opposing sides unified under joint rule.”_

                Allura had shuddered while Coran, pissed off enough, ended the call then and there, but now the conversation’s drifted into territory Lance never wanted it to come to.

                “Lotor never said who she has to marry,” Keith speaks up, while a hush falls over the other Paladins, because it’s rare form to see Keith this quiet, this serious.

                Lance wonders what the hell being the team leader’s done to his brain, because he knows what Keith will say before he says it, and he’s _right,_ of course—some days he thinks he knows Keith better than Keith knows Keith. He knows Keith’s next words kill him inside, and he pointedly refuses to look at Lance, because he can’t.

                “Lotor said she just has to marry someone who’s Galra,” Keith says, and steps forward. “He never said it had to be him. She could marry me.”

                Lance’s heart lodges in his throat.

                Pidge mutters a quiet _holy shit_ while Hunk whistles lowly and turns abruptly toward the window, like there’s something fascinating drifting out there beyond the glass. Coran gapes and Allura freezes, the _no_ written easily in her features.

                Keith’s face pinches, and he suddenly draws back. “It’s...just an idea, in case we need it.”

                Allura’s mouth opens and closes a few times; both she and Lance fail to speak. Allura, because her mind’s probably going too fast, running through every possible scenario, trying to decide which one’s best to act on, and Lance because he can’t.

                He can’t come out and say _you’re gay, Keith, and you’ll be dead inside if you go through with this._ He can’t come out and say _you already have a boyfriend, what are you doing?_

                And he doesn’t know how to come out and say _actually, I’m Altean, too._

                So he says nothing when Coran suggests that they discuss this at a later time, after thinking on it long and hard.

 

…

 

                Lance finds Keith in his room—Lance’s room, specifically. Jacket still on, boots still over his feet, Marmora knife clutched in his hand. The bindings that always cover the hilt of his knife, cover the Marmora symbol, lie haphazardly in a pile on the bed next to him.

                Keith looks up when the door hisses open.

                “I know what you’re gonna say, and trust me, I hate this.”

                Of course he knows what Lance was going to say—if Lance knows Keith better than Keith knows Keith, then Keith knows Lance better than Lance knows Lance.

                Lance lingers in the doorway, as Keith’s words hang in the air. They hold gazes for a moment before Keith drops his back to the knife.

                “I just need to do _something_ ,” Keith says. “I don’t even know if it’ll work. We’re both Paladins, maybe it’ll look too suspicious, but I had to throw something out there. I had—I had to lead for once.”

                Keith’s shoulders bunch, momentarily, and then slump as Keith releases the tension and runs one hand through his hair, roughly pushing his bangs back. Then his hand falls, back into his lap, and another breath escapes him.

                “I’m sorry.”

                _No,_ I’m _sorry,_ is Lance’s automatic mental response. Sorry for going after him that night, sorry for climbing into the Blue Lion and getting them all into this mess in the first place, sorry for inadvertently placing them all on the front lines of a millennia-old war.

                War means sacrifice. War means bullshit politics. War means putting your own wants aside for the good of the many, and they both know it.

                So Lance sighs and crosses the room, sits down in the empty space on Keith’s other side. The bed dips with his weight, but Lance is careful not to touch Keith—their knees barely brush, and Lance makes it a point to keep their shoulders separated. Not until Keith tentatively reaches his hand over, and Lance takes it up with his own, intertwines their fingers and rests their hands on his thigh.

                “You’re doing it for the good of the team and the good of the universe,” Lance whispers, even as his chest tightens. “I can’t fault you for that.”

                _Tell him,_ a voice in the back of Lance’s head urges. _It can turn this whole thing around. Everyone’s happy._

                And Lance can’t decide whether or not it would be selfish—selfish to tell Keith, and make it seem like his confession is only so he can keep him all to himself; selfish, to center this deal on them, and make it seem like he’s just trying to steal the spotlight.

                But he’s gotta tell someone. Someone other than Pidge or Coran.

                If he can’t trust Keith, he can’t trust anyone.

                “But I...I have to tell you something,” Lance says. “It might...it could change things.”

                He pauses to let Keith process the words, let them sink in, and Keith’s grip on his hand tightens. Keith doesn’t turn and look at him, but Lance picks up on the sudden rush of fear closing his throat when he speaks.

                “What do you mean, change things?”

                “Not between us!” Lance says quickly, and then his voice falters. “Well...maybe a little, but-but not in the way you think.”

                _Easy, Sharpshooter._ Lance hears Keith’s voice in his head, that hushed tone from conversations in the dead of night, soothing tone from missions exceptionally dangerous, gentle tone accompanied by featherlight fingers and kisses on his temple.

                Keith’s quiet as he waits for Lance to continue on, but his grip only gets tighter, until Lance feels the press of nails in his skin and squeezes Keith back, snaps him out of it as he realizes how hard he’s holding Lance’s hand.

                “Keith,” he says, and then the words rush out of him before he can stop them, before he can figure out how he _wants_ to deliver them, “I’m part Altean.”

                And underneath his makeup, his cheeks tingle. Lance knows his blue marks blaze, itch to come out.

                He holds his breath as Keith’s head snaps toward him sharply, and his eyes narrow and suddenly the hand in his is gone, as Keith’s fists clench and he rises to his feet.

                “This isn’t a _joke,_ Lance—”

                “I’m not joking!” Lance shouts, and then he’s on his feet, too. His hand shoots out and wraps around Keith’s wrist and he pulls Keith back in. And for all his irritation, Keith lets him.

                “I’m serious,” Lance repeats, voice quieter, with a trace of apology. “I wouldn’t...I know, you’re putting yourself on the line for the team, and I wouldn’t just toy with that. C’mon, you _know_ I’d never.”

                Keith huffs out another breath, but his expression softens.

                “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m just stressed about this.” He raises his head again. “H-How…?”

                _How did you find out? How are you Altean? How do you think this could work?_

                He asks all three with a single word.

                “Lab accident with Pidge and Coran,” Lance responds. “Accidentally exposed to quintessence, it got brought to light, y’know. They ran some more tests to confirm it. As for _how_...I don’t know. My dad, maybe. We’re still looking into it. But it’s true.”

                Lance releases Keith for a moment and enters the bathroom, while Keith crosses his arms and waits. When Lance returns, he returns with a wet cloth in hand. He stares Keith in the eye as he slowly drags the cloth down one cheek, and then the other.

                Keith goes slack.

                “Holy shit,” he whispers.

                Hearing about it and seeing it are two different experiences. Cautiously, Keith steps toward Lance, until there’s a hand on his cheek, thumb running over one of the marks while Keith stares reverently.

                “You said yourself, you don’t know if it’ll work with you and Allura both being Paladins,” Lance says. “There’s no guarantee it would work for us, either.” He places his hand over Keith’s and loosely laces their fingers together from behind. “But...this could be an alternative that’s better for all of us, if it does work.”

                Keith contemplates; his lips purse, and he raises his eyes from Lance’s mark to his eyes.

                “What do we tell the team?”

                _About you? About us?_ Do _we tell them?_

                “I’m gonna have to tell them sooner or later.”

                _That I’m Altean. That I’m bi._

                “Best to get it over with now,” Lance goes on. “For the good of the universe, y’know? And, y’know, so we can spare Allura. Lotor didn’t know about me, but he never specified that Allura has to be the Altean, either.”

                “So we’re not telling them about us?” Keith asks, face falling. “You’re just—”

                “Gonna put myself out there for the sake of the rest of you? The same thing you just did? Uh, yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m saying,” Lance says.

                Keith swallows like it pains him, and takes Lance’s other hand.

                “We’re doing this together,” he says, and once the words are out of him, his back straightens out, like the words weighed him down. “If we can spare Allura _and_ save someone from having to marry Lotor, then I’m in. If you’re in.”

                A smile breaks Lance’s face. “If you’re in, then I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i said, i do what i want
> 
> my city now
> 
> in the meantime:   
> -stan [stealing our own place in the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441), my fix-it fic where i rewrite all of voltron after season 3  
> -stan [deceit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539) [so](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473437/chapters/25727043) [natural](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743020/chapters/26462739), my first ever voltron fic/series.  
> >>>>[livetweet thread](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1083188743719346177) of me commenting + tallying up the **49** things i did before they happened in canon


	3. day 3: not without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: mermaids  
> alternate universe: magical realism, pirates  
> characters: keith, lance, griffin, rizavi, leifsdottir, kinkade, mentions of allura, alfor, melenor  
> relationships: keith/lance, team mfe
> 
> in which keith and lance recover an artifact stolen from the kingdom of altea.
> 
> **trigger warnings for some violence, blood, injury**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late lmao i went to a super bowl watch party
> 
> having no stake in the game made watching the reactions very amusing but the game itself?? boring
> 
> sorry not sorry
> 
> anyhoo

                “How much longer do we have to sit here?”

                Griffin’s gang’s first mistake was tying them both to the same pole, hands close enough to reach the other’s. And the other’s waistband. Keith fiddled with the knife in his hand, working at the ropes around Lance’s wrist. Each rope gave way with a satisfying snap, as threads severed and fell to the ground in a pool behind them.

                “Just a little longer,” Keith promised.

                The knife passed from his fingers to Lance’s.

                Lance cut his eyes to the door, and he and Keith both fell silent for a moment; they were greeted with nothing but the rocking of the boat, the crash of waves along the walls, splashing at the window. If their captors really wanted, they could’ve opened the one window, sealed the door, and let them drown.

                _Drown,_ Keith thought, and snorted, as Lance moved into a more comfortable position and began slicing away at the ropes on Keith’s wrists. He flexed his hands when they dropped, glad to have a full range of motion back. Lance passed him the knife, and then drew a pistol from where he’d tucked it deep in his boot.

                Not checking them over fully—the second rookie mistake.

                Their third was not killing Keith and Lance when they’d gotten the chance.

                “Maybe they’ve heard of us,” Lance said casually, leaning back against the pole, much more relaxed with a gun in his hand. “Maybe we’re being brought somewhere for research.” He raised his free hand to wiggle his fingers and waggled his eyebrows.

                Keith rolled his eyes and tugged his bandana away from his mouth to better respond. “If we’ve been exposed, I’ll give you half of my half of ours hauls for the next three months.”

                “Mmm...nah,” Lance replied, and leaned in, gripped the bottom of Keith’s chin between his fingers as he brought their mouths together. “I think I’ll just take a bunch more of these if I’m right.”

                Keith lightly shoved him; even so, he grinned, while Lance chucked under his breath and resumed his position against the pole, making like his hands were still tied. Keith mirrored him, and slumped his head on Lance’s shoulder.

                He knew most pirates were merciless in the face of fatigue—didn’t give a damn if prisoners were injured or exhausted—because they would be killed. But for his crew’s incompetency, James Griffin’s name still made its rounds on the seas. He enjoyed spectacle, enjoyed puffing out his feathers, enjoyed having a reputation.

                _He’ll certainly have one when we’re done with him,_ Lance had quipped when they’d intentionally gotten themselves captured.

                “Wonder what the rest of the crew is up to,” Lance said, if only to fill the silence.

                “Hopefully hauling ass to the rendezvous point,” Keith responded.

                Lance huffed out a quiet laugh just as footsteps thudded down the hall. He and Keith fell silent, Keith shifting up slightly. He tightened his hold on the hilt of his knife as the heavy door to the room creaked open, spilling in lantern light. The wider the door opened, the more figures came into view—three, all of them James Griffin’s cronies.

                So a bigger fight than they would’ve liked, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

                Leifsdottir—their navigator, the least of them suited for fighting; still, a sword hung in a scabbard at her waist, but she couldn’t draw it. Not clutching the lantern. Then again, it wasn’t like she needed to. Rizavi and Kinkade each held weapons of their own. Rizavi, a dagger, with a large sword still sheathed. Kinkade, a pistol, with a musket on his back.

                “Nightfall already?” Lance asked, arching an eyebrow, as if the darkening sky beyond the tiny window wasn’t a dead giveaway.

                “It’d do you some good to keep quiet,” Rizavi responded. “Captain Griffin’s _really_ not in the mood for a mouth today.” She muttered something under her breath about _fucking shifters,_ and Keith’s breath caught in his throat. Lance, though—Lance didn’t seem fazed.

                “Shifters, huh?” he asked. “Nasty beasts.”

                “See, at least one of you gets it,” Rizavi responded, even as she and Kinkade stepped forward. “Whole flock of ‘em with wings this afternoon on the upper decks. Terrible. Suppose they were trying to get to our prize, huh? Just like you two.”

                “Riz,” Kinkade chided. “Don’t tell them more than they need to know.”

                He eyed Keith and Lance warily as he and Rizavi approached; rightfully so, with Lance’s perpetual smirk gracing his face, the glint of mischief in his eye that’d lured Keith in so many years ago and grabbed him in a chokehold and never released him.

                “Prize, huh?” Lance went on. “Seeing as we’re already incapacitated, y’mind telling us where that is? Just for future reference; if you let us go, we _could_ ally with you and keep that thing—”

                “I thought I told you to keep quiet.”

                Rizavi’s dagger rested against Lance’s mouth, still curved up. Lance enjoyed pushing the limit; he had Keith to step in when things took a nosedive. But for now, the line held. Rizavi narrowed her eyes and cut, light, a wisp of pain there and gone as she withdrew the knife and left a thin line of blood behind.

                “Aw, and here I thought we were having a conversation about how annoying shifters are,” Lance responded teasingly.

                Even so, his hand twitched behind him, and his finger came to rest over the trigger on his pistol.

                Then he pulled.

                A shot rang out and struck the wall behind them, clean through. Rizavi, Kinkade, and Leifsdottir all jumped—reacted violently. Their eyes flew to the back wall as if Lance and Keith had other allies stowed away on the ship somehow—as if their innocent act was all just a ruse—which, not _technically wrong_ —

                Keith had Kinkade down in a matter of seconds: a kick to the gut, to have him doubled over, followed by him smashing the butt of his knife against his temple. Out cold. He collapsed on the wood and Keith leapt over him and lunged for Leifsdottir as she broke for the door to alert Griffin that the prisoners were staging a break.

                She didn’t get very far.

                Keith was faster and more agile, much more in-tune to the rocking of the ship than an imposter pirate would ever be. He leapt up and gripped one of the rafters and then swung down, one heel connecting with the back of Leifsdottir’s head. She went down with a thud; Keith dropped down next to her and knelt, probed her neck for a pulse, brought his hand up to her nose and caught the tickling of faint breathing.

                Good. He hadn’t accidentally killed her.

                _Let it go,_ he could hear Lance’s voice in his head, reassuring him he’d done the right thing all those months ago, but it still weighed him down. If Altea knew—gotten wind—he’d— _they’d_ , because Lance would get dragged into it, too—never be allowed to return. As it was, they walked thin ice acquiring treasure the way they did.

                Altea emphasized diplomacy, treaties that took months to negotiate. Pirating was a much faster way to reclaim stolen valuables.

                They pirated. Allura went through the diplomatic gymnastics it took to cover it up. King Alfor and Queen Melenor remained oblivious.

                Keith stood, and swept eyes around the interior of the ship, picked out doors down the hall. One, at the very end of the hall: the captain’s room, where Keith knew Griffin kept his treasures. Its door was ajar, creaking slightly as the ship rocked.

                Keith didn’t trust it.

                He waited until Lance emerged from the room they’d been held in, sporting no new injuries other than his sliced lips, lips he’d insist Keith kiss better later on, and then silently motioned toward the room. Lance’s eyes narrowed and mouth pulled back into something a little more sinister than his smirk.

                “Y’think he’s waiting in there and sent his cronies to do his dirty work?” Lance asked.

                Keith nodded. “Either he knew we’d win, and he’s got something planned, or he’s just a lazy prick.”

                “Well,” Lance said, and started down the hall, Keith falling into line behind him, “let’s find out.”

                Their footsteps slowed as they reached the door. Lance tentatively pushed it open further and poked his head into the room, and Keith hooked an arm around his waist, prepared to yank him back at the first sign of danger.

                “Empty,” Lance murmured, voice low. “I don’t like this.”

                He stepped fully into the room, Keith pressing in behind him. Sure enough, the place was void of life; Keith let Lance go and did his own quick investigation. Griffin wasn’t known for theatrics, but Keith still considered the possibility, and only let it go when checking behind the massive deck and chair turned up nothing.

                “Think the treasure’s booby-trapped?” Lance asked, and gestured toward what they’d come looking for: the ancient Altean diadem, stolen several decades ago when wars as sea were far bloodier, far bolder; long before either of them were born.

                “I dunno,” Keith said, and palmed his knife, tested its weight.

                Then he flung it centimeters over the diadem, and it stuck into the wall behind.

                Nothing.

                Lance remained in place as Keith approached the diadem. His hand hovered above it for a few brief seconds, before he snatched it up from the cushion it rested on. Then Lance’s hands were around him, pulling him back against his chest, as a bear trap snapped the cushion in two.

                “Thanks,” Keith breathed out, and for a moment let himself sag against Lance, let himself breathe.

                “I’ve got you,” Lance replied, and hot breath tickled Keith’s hair as Lance pressed a kiss to the back of his head and then released him.

                Keith handed off the diadem to Lance; with nowhere else to put it, bags having been confiscated the moment Griffin’s crew set upon them, Lance put it on his head, while Keith walked around the pedestal the diadem had been resting on, over to the wall, and took back his knife.

                “Let’s go before Griffin realizes,” Keith muttered, and turned to see Lance, hand resting on a popped hip, head tilted.

                “How do I look?”

                Keith shook his head, pursed his lips to suppress the smile that tried to overtake them. “More like a court jester than a king.”

                Lance gaped, scoffed, blocked the doorway.

                “As your _prince_ —”

                “You’re not a prince.”

                “I’ve got a crown on my head, don’t I? Crown means prince and prince means you’re subject to my orders,” Lance said, and then tapped his mouth. “I demand a reparation for all the stress we’ve been under in the last fifteen minutes.”

                “ _Stress_ ,” Keith repeated. “Like you don’t enjoy being obnoxious.”

                “ _Obnoxious_ ,” Lance mimicked Keith, even as Keith sauntered up to him. “You’re bold, Kogane.”

                “I’m the bold one, sure,” Keith replied, and closed the distance to Lance, cupped his face in his hands. “You’re the one asking for a kiss in the captain’s quarters of an enemy ship, McClain.”

                Over Lance’s shoulder, the hall remained clear, so Keith closed his eyes and let their lips slot together. Lance’s arms wound around his waist and pulled them flush together, while Keith’s heart pounded.

                A longstanding ritual for the two of them—a kiss in the captain’s quarters. Something about the thrill of getting caught, maybe the adrenaline of stealing authority on Lance’s part—it kept them going, kept them alive, gave them a second wind to make their escape.

                “You ready?” Lance spoke against his mouth, and Keith nodded, pulled back, lingered a moment more to meet Lance’s gaze head-on. His eyes glimmered like the endless ocean surrounding the ship, dark and dangerous, and Keith’s stomach fluttered.

                “Let’s go.”

                Lance took the diadem off of his head, while Keith tugged his bandana back up over his mouth and palmed his knife, tossed it a few times as he and Lance started out of the captain’s quarters, down the hall, up for the main deck.

                They made it halfway down the hall, Leifsdottir’s unconscious form lying between them and their exit, before a shadow fell over the open hatch to the surface.

                Heavy boots thudded against the ladder leading up as James Griffin himself descended, gun drawn and aimed for the both of them. Keith shoved Lance behind him while Lance hid his pistol behind his back.

                Where Lance mouthed off, Keith showed off.

                “Griffin,” Keith regarded him, tipping his chin.

                Griffin stood no taller than Keith, shorter than Lance. His heavy coat gave him the illusion of bulk, of bulging muscle—layered shirts and stuffed sleeves.

                An illusion, and extra cushion.

                He couldn’t stab at Griffin’s throat—he wasn’t aiming to kill, wasn’t aiming to maim. Just incapacitate. Getting that close would be difficult in the first place; Keith would have to distract, then. Lance would have to make a pass at him.

                “So,” Griffin said, spreading one hand, “Sharpshooter and Samurai have decided to grace my presence by knocking out the rest of my crew.”

                “Just four people,” Keith remarked. “Weak crew, huh?”

                Griffin’s gaze darkened, a look made all the more severe by his shadowed face as he blotted out the fading sunrays, the last shreds of sunset streaming in through the hatch.

                “Weak?” Griffin repeated, and took another few steps down, landed in the hall with a thud. Kept advancing, as he stepped over Leifsdottir.

                Keith’s free arm shifted up and back, a barrier between Lance and Griffin. Griffin studied the both of them, outright glared in Lance’s direction.

                “And what do you have?”

                Before Lance could open his mouth to answer, Griffin lifted his gun and shot.

                Lance and Keith moved as one, Lance’s free arm wrapping around Keith’s waist as they ducked and swung around. Keith swept a leg under Griffin while the bullet grazed his arm, the space where his chest had been seconds before, and struck Lance in the shoulder.

                Just after Lance shot Griffin in the stomach.

                “Lance—!”

                “Go!”

                Lance shoved Keith forward, over Griffin, over Leifsdottir, and gritted his teeth and followed, until Keith grabbed his arm and ushered _him_ in the front.

                Lance didn’t question it. He climbed the ladder as best he could, shoulder protesting. He and Keith ignored the grunting behind them, the growling as Griffin struggled to his feet.

                Several more shots struck the ladder, all of them beneath Lance and Keith as they broke to the top of the deck. Keith kept an arm up, a hand ghosting over the small of Lance’s back, keeping them going.

                They barely closed in on the edge of the deck when more shots rang out, one striking the railing just inches from Lance’s waist.

                “Don’t look back, move!” Keith shouted—

                And then cried out, as a shot struck him in the back of the leg.

                Keith sprawled out on the edge of the deck, fingertips grazing the railing. Pain shot through his chin as it cracked along the deck. Another shot splintered the wood next to his head as hands came down, a face appeared over his—

                “Lance,” Keith choked, “go! The diadem—!”

                “Not without you,” Lance replied, voice quick and low, and he raised one arm and shot—twice—three times—

                Lance stowed the pistol in its holster and lifted Keith underneath his arms, hauled him to the side of the deck.

                Then he threw him overboard.

                Keith fell toward the water face-first; closed his eyes and concentrated, ignored the fire in his leg and the ache in his bloody chin, let his power wrap around him as his body hit the water.

                A second splash, moments later, and Keith watched the seas split around a golden light; when the light cleared, Lance stared back at him, blood curling up to the surface from his shoulder.

                “We made it,” he said, and his tail—blue, shimmering scales—wrapped around Keith’s—red, in color and in the blood left behind by his injury.

                “Let me see you,” Keith said, and tried to swim over, only to grimace the moment he moved his tail.

                Lance smiled wistfully and reached out, took Keith’s hands and pulled him in, bodies pressed tightly together as he rested a hand in Keith’s hair.

                “We’re alright,” he said. “Nothing the healers can’t fix. Just hang tight, okay?”

                He turned in Keith’s grasp, until Keith’s arms were around his neck. Gently, Keith curled his tail loosely around Lance’s, and settled his chin in the slope of Lance’s neck and shoulder.

                The healer—they’d need a story to cover this. Because the surface knew of Samurai and Sharpshooter, the mysterious pirates that couldn’t be caught, that disappeared after every heist. The ocean knew Lance and Keith, mermen who served on Princess Allura’s personal guard, who disappeared for stretches at a time and returned just before stolen artifacts suddenly reappeared in Altean possession.

                While they themselves crossed worlds, their identities never could—Keith and Lance would never meet the upper world, Samurai and Sharpshooter the depths, and shifters neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm almost physically incapable of not writing established kl
> 
> anyway see you tomorrow where i will get sniped for my hogwarts house sortings


	4. day 4: don't you have a snitch you should be catching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: hogwarts au  
> alternate universe: hogwarts  
> characters: keith, lance; mention of shiro  
> relationships: keith/lance, mentioned broganes  
> other tags: gryffindor keith, slytherin lance, seeker keith, seeker lance, 7th year
> 
> a quidditch match, ft. lance, keith, and some poor or brilliant timing, depending on the point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did a twitter thread on my headcanons for everyone's houses and lance can fit into almost any house don't @ me

                _Where are you?_

                Rain lashed Keith as he hovered on his broom. It was nearly impossible to see, and, scowling, he pushed his goggles up, off of his eyes and to the top of his head. His bangs went back with them, in sharp, wet spikes plastered to his head by the storm.

                His red quidditch robes both billowed in the wind and clung to his skin as he scanned the skies—and then was nearly knocked off his broom by a blur of green, chasing after a glimmer of gold that Keith _missed._ Cheeky laughter trailed after his would-be assailant, laughter Keith would recognize anywhere.

                “Too slow today, Kogane!”

                Lance.

                Maybe he wasn’t as big of competition in the classroom, but on the quidditch pitch? Lance had a certain talent, a certain levity that only broke free in practice and in matches. Keith made Gryffindor seeker in fourth year; by fifth year, Lance had ascended to Slytherin seeker. That year, and the following sixth year, matches between Gryffindor and Slytherin grew intense, with the two of them going toe-to-toe—err, broom-to-broom.

                This year, their final year, was shaping up to be no different.

                Keith gritted his teeth and snapped his rain-slicked goggles back over his eyes, wondering how the hell Lance had managed to get a visual on the snitch and keep it in his line of sight for more than two seconds, let alone also keep track of the beaters and their bludgers.

                Like the bludger coming at Keith’s head that moment.

                He dove on his broom and the bludger sailed above him, Lance’s laughter echoing somewhere— _there!_ Above him. Lance leaned down on his broom and grinned in Keith’s direction not unlike the Cheshire Cat; Keith could almost imagine a purple tail curling around the other end of his broom.

                “Havin’ fun?” Lance called down.

                Despite the dark of the clouds and rain, Lance’s eyes were bright, alive.

                And Keith finally pieced together why the hell he could see them.

                Unlike his own goggles, drenched, lenses streaked with water no matter how hard the wind blew the drops back, Lance’s repelled the water the moment it came near. The _Impervius_ charm.

                _Motherfucker._

                “Don’t you have a snitch you should be catching?” Keith called back. His eyes swept the sky around Lance, searching for the familiar golden wings, but they kept snagging on brown skin, hair just a few shades darker, cocky little _smirk_ —

                “I could ask you the same question,” Lance said, and threw his arm out in gesture. “But I don’t see it around here. And you know what _else_ I can’t see?”

                He paused a moment, smirk morphing into a full-on-smile that made something warm unfurl low in Keith’s stomach. Lance brought his broom in closer, dropped his voice.

                “No spectators. No enchanted cameras.”

                Cameras would be drenched in rain, lenses too obscured to make out anything meaningful. And they were too far up in the clouds for those back down on the pitch to see them. Keith returned Lance’s devious smile and met him halfway, brooms lined up at just the right angle for Lance to pull him in.

                Keith pushed Lance’s goggles back to get a better view of his face in its full glory.

                “ _Impervius_ charm, huh? And you didn’t even think to tell me?”

                Lance chuckled, a rumbling that came from deep in his chest and bubbled over, out of his mouth, and the thing at Keith’s core twisted pleasantly.

                “I’m amazed that Mr. _Top of Our Year_ didn’t think of it himself, like, three years ago,” Lance responded, and tugged Keith’s goggles to the top of his head in return, and then caressed his cheek with his thumb. “Or, y’know, had Shiro maybe-totally-not-on-purpose accidentally leave a book open on a desk for you to just so happen to walk by and see.”

                “Not all of us are smart in the way you are.”

                Keith slipped hands under Lance’s robes and found them dry as well, eyes widening as he watched the water slide right off without ever truly touching it. He’d used the charm on his _entire uniform._

                “You’re gonna catch a cold,” Lance murmured as one of his hands slid to the base of Keith’s neck, while he pressed their foreheads together. “You’re shivering, babe.”

                “If I catch a cold, I’m taking you down with me,” Keith responded when his lips brushed against Lance’s, and then Lance closed the distance, smiling; a little less mischievous, a little softer.

                The warmth in Keith’s core spread, and Lance’s mouth distracted him; he didn’t notice when Lance’s other hand left his cheek, didn’t hear the rapid flutter of wings right by his ear, because all he could hear was the roar of his heartbeat and the rain.

                Lance pulled back, too abruptly for Keith’s liking. He smiled still, but lopsidedly now. Keith’s eyes trailed up to his hand, face falling.

                The snitch twitched between his fingers.

                “Thanks for the victory kiss, Mullet!” he said, and then dove for the screaming crowds below, leaving Keith to stare after him, dumbfounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is shorter than the other ones but i like this and ALSO i have homework to do so. yeeteth.


	5. a sense of timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: roommates  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent sometime after s4  
> characters: keith, lance, lotor; mentions of allura, hunk, pidge, and shiro; random unnamed guards  
> relationships: keith/lance, implied one-sided lotura  
> other tags: bom keith, red paladin lance, hijinks and shenanigans, what the fuck did i just write
> 
> in which a cell is a room, and keith and lance aren't happy to have another roommate. especially not one that comes in the form of a certain prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all basically crack i'm so sorry egfegregtgg  
> anyway this is an au of an au i wanted to write last year and started planning but never got down to actually executing bc i was too busy writing stars go down (which, if you haven't read it, today was the one-year anniversary of chapter 23 ;) )
> 
> so 
> 
> yeah
> 
> have fun

                Lance decides he’d rather be anywhere but here.

                There are two upsides to the awfulness that is his present situation: he’s not alone, number one. He shares this cramped space with two...friends, he supposes, is the best way to sum it up, to lump the two of them in together. One of them is his second upside: Keith, chained to the wall across the room, furthest away from Lance but the one Lance gets the full view of.

                Then there’s Lotor.

                Lance refuses to look at him because _he’s_ the reason the three of them are in here, as far as he’s concerned. If he hadn’t run—hadn’t forced Lance to go after him and split off from the rest of the team—

                “Tell me again what happened?” Keith repeats incredulously, breaking up Lance’s train of thought.

                “You should be thanking me, that’s what happened,” Lotor says stiffly, tipping his chin in Lance’s direction. “If I hadn’t done what I needed to—”

                “ _Lance_ ,” Keith specifies this time, cutting off Lotor mid-sentence, exasperation clear in his eyes, “wanna give me the rundown again?”

                Lance knows Keith doesn’t really need the rundown, knows he heard every word the first time, knows he’s just having trouble processing and would really like confirmation that Lance didn’t get some kind of concussion in the fight that got them here.

                “Lotor ran off to go do something sketchy,” Lance says, “as in, _broke out of the castle jail cell._ ”

                “I still can’t believe we have a jail cell,” Keith mutters.

                Lance rolls his eyes. The first time Keith found out (read: when Lance explained fifteen minutes ago), he’d quipped that if he’d known, he’d have locked Lance in there, until he remembered the cryopod incident. He still wears an apologetic look, especially now.

                “I went after him, y’know, because I care about the team—”

                “ _Or_ because you’re overprotective of a certain princess?” Lotor interrupts, and Lance glares daggers in his direction, before returning his attention to Keith.

                The hurt shines in his eyes and stabs Lance directly in the heart, but then he cuts a glance to Lotor and spreads his hands (read: flexes his fingers, because that’s all he can really do when they’re chained to the wall, above his head).

                _I had to keep up a charade, Mullet._

                And Keith sighs, because he knows, and Lotor narrows his eyes and switches his gaze between the two of them.

                “Is there something going on that I should know about? Are you two speaking some kind of code? I’ve told you before, I’m not a traitor, as the Blue One here would like to—”

                “Shut it,” Lance and Keith snap at the same time, and Keith adds after, “He has a name.”

                “I don’t think he’s used my name once since we teamed up with him,” Lance says. “ _Anyway._ I went after him. Creepy witch lady infiltrated the castle. Allura went to stop her, bam, she’s out cold. Hunk came up next, then Pidge, and then Shiro. And I only know because I went back in and found a literal trail of sleeping Paladins on the floor.”

                “So why didn’t the witch or whoever knock you out?” Keith asks.

                “Long-gone,” Lotor answers like he’s part of this conversation, while Keith suppresses a groan and tilts his head back, suddenly much more interested on the cuffs than whatever the prince—emperor? What even is his role now?—has to contribute.

                “Prophecy or whatever was left on a data drive in the castle,” Lance says. “No clue who she was. I waited until she was gone to go back in. I didn’t realize she sent the goon squad after me.”

                Also known as the soldiers who pursued him in the midst of his pursuit of Lotor, _also_ known as the faction of Galra soldiers the Blade had been tailing in an effort to squander their support for some warlord attempting to seize power.

                Lance had quite literally run into Keith and gotten them both captured, and somehow, the soldiers had also managed to apprehend Lotor.

                And thus, the current situation.

                “So now,” Keith says, “we’ve gotta what, bust out of here? Wake up the rest of the team before the sleeping curse becomes permanent?”

                “Yeah,” Lance answers. “This is some Sleeping Beauty bullshit but times ten.”

                “Sleeping Beauty?” Lotor asks, leaning forward curiously. “Are you referring to—”

                “ _No_ ,” Lance says pointedly, shutting his eyes. “I’m not talking about Allura.”

                Even through closed lids, Lance feels Keith’s quizzical gaze piercing him, wondering why the hell Lotor thinks Lance is _obsessed_ or whatever with Allura, wondering what lengths he went to to keep up the illusion, wondering why the hell Lotor keeps—

                _Oh._

                _Oho._

                Lance can easily turn this around.

                “Why do you keep asking about her?” Lance asks, opening his eyes and looking away from Keith, silently praying that he’ll run with this, _anything_ to keep the conversation away from Lance’s love life. “Is there a certain space prince who thinks—”

                “I think _nothing_ ,” Lotor interrupts. “I merely wonder—”

                “Because you think I’m getting in the way,” Lance cuts him off in return, smirking, while Keith quietly snickers, earning a fiery look from Lotor. “You like Allura, don’t you?”

                Lotor’s face goes tight. “I said nothing of the sort.”

                “Get a load of this guy!” Lance shouts over him, hopefully earning the attention of a few prison guards. “He likes—!”

                “I’ll kill you!” Lotor shouts over him.

                On any other day, Lance would expect Keith to shout something retaliatory. If he’d had a weapon in his hand and wasn’t currently chained to a wall, maybe he’d try running Lotor through with his sword. For now, though, Keith stays quiet, teeth grit as he fiddles with the cuffs, and Lance discovers something new:

                Claws.

                Lance’s mind suddenly goes to a very specific place, a land of words and actions not suited for the guards around them to hear, and _certainly_ not for Lotor to know and fling back at him, and he shoves that down. Keith needs to concentrate, and Lance needs to keep the guards distracted.

                He also needs the guards in their tiny cell.

                “Try me, Discount Legolas!” Lance shouts back at him. “C’mon! Bust free of those cuffs and hit me!”

                The guards still aren’t coming over here, and Lance’s words stun Lotor speechless.

                _Absolutely fucking useless in a prison break, you white-haired grape,_ Lance decides then, and sighs.

                Then he starts shrieking.

                He startles Lotor, definitely, because he chokes on air and tries to double over, wheezing, while Keith’s head snaps in his direction for a moment, eyes wide in brief terror before he realizes what Lance is doing, and starts going harder at the cuffs.

                “Can someone shut that one up?” one of the guards asks, and Lance flicks his eyes to Keith, whose teeth worry at his lower lip in concentration.

                Finally, there’s a barely-audible click at the same time that the cell door swings open, and two guards storm in, one of them heading in Lance’s direction with a bludgeon.

                They don’t last two seconds.

                Keith tears out of his restraints and swings at the one with the bludgeon first, a well-aimed punch to the back of the head taking them down. The second turns around to ask what the hell happened when Keith’s fist meets their face and sends them spinning, and then tumbling in a heap on the floor.

                There are only two other guards in this hall.

                One breaks for the door that leads to the lesser-security cells (which, Lance pauses to wonder: _why the hell are they allowed to share a cell in maximum security?_ ), and the other storms inside with a taser pointed at Keith.

                Keith kicks it and sends it, still electrified, into the guard’s face.

                They go down on top of their comrades, and Keith leaps over the bodies to Lance. He crowds in, blocking out Lance’s face from Lotor’s line of sight as he kisses his cheek, and then sets to work. His mouth moves closer to Lance’s ear as he digs into the locking mechanism with a claw, while Lance revels in the fact that he’s finally got Keith back at his side after weeks of no contact, other than space FaceTime.

                “Hey.” Keith’s voice is low, so low _Lance_ barely hears him, but it’s a necessary precaution. “I missed you.”

                “Missed you too.” Lance’s breath ghosts over Keith’s cheek, ruffles his hair. “Claws now, huh? You really are a space cat.”

                Keith wastes one precious moment to pull back and narrow his eyes, while Lance laughs.

                “You have the worst sense of timing.”

                “Uh, no,” Lance replies, “my sense of timing brought us back together. I have a _great_ sense of timing, actually.”

                “I thought you were blaming _me_ for this incident—” Lotor starts, confusing running through his voice.

                “Shut it!”

                Keith and Lance speak in unison as Lance’s cuffs give way, and Lance stumbles a few feet as his full weight drops back onto his legs. Keith reaches out to steady him, every point of contact burning as he runs gentle fingers over Lance’s flightsuit, at his waist, on his back.

                “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, by the way,” Keith mutters.

                “I will, I promise,” Lance says, and he meets Keith’s eyes to speak the rest of his promise: _You’ve got me, always._

                They start in the direction of the cell exit, Keith already outlining a plan to find their weapons, hijack a ship, and then get started on whatever the witch left behind for them, when Lotor’s voice rings out from behind.

                “Aren’t you taking me along?”

                Lance’s shoulders bunch as he freezes, and Keith looks back.

                “Should we take him?”

                Again, a low voice. His fingers brush up against Lance’s, and for the smallest moment, Lance wraps his pinkie around Keith’s before letting go with a sigh.

                “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in case u didn't catch that:  
> lotor got imprisoned for one reason or another after attempting to work with the team, witch lady put a sleeping curse on the team, keith's been with the bom and ran into lance and lotor, keith and lance are secretly dating and lance is just tryna look out for allura AS A FRIEND lotor just can't read the situation but also lance is keeping up a charade bc not even the team knows about him and keith
> 
> ya
> 
> anyway
> 
> 1) i actually don't like lotura but it is what it is (hashtag stan romellura)  
> 2) can u tell i'm sleep-deprived  
> 3) if u want actual roommates stuff i also posted a new chapter of because guys like us are cool in college, which i'm too lazy to link, so go check that out
> 
> anyhoo
> 
> stan deceit so natural


	6. with my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: supernatural  
> alternate universe: modern au, urban fantasy  
> characters: keith, lance; mentions of shiro, adam  
> relationships: keith/lance; implied background broganes, adashi  
> other tags: mutual pining, childhood best friends, hurt/comfort, protective keith, protective lance  
>  **trigger warnings: threats of violence, vomit, panic/anxiety attack/mental breakdown, keith uses the fuck word way too much**
> 
> keith and lance, and some shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so this is an au i started planning back over the summer and then realized it was lowkey like shadowhunters without the religious shit and then i never actually. wrote it.
> 
> but i have a [playlist for it on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/nerdyspaceace/playlist/3B5I8kVXsZyPePgy3Hw7zB?si=43YNXMykR9CEd7MgyA0AnA)!! in case i ever decide to write the full thing (probably not!!)
> 
> this whole thing only ever came to me in bits and pieces so [shrug]
> 
> this oneshot was written along to [panic room by au/ra](https://open.spotify.com/track/7uUahoeqGNRMbpdeiLj1rS?si=lYRJAM0xQdGPMTmdxV3xrA) and [ripple by written by wolves](https://open.spotify.com/track/0MTPuC6VLAXXjJUW0HMZ95?si=GSONhdm-TH2OxcdB4TqYhQ), so, [another shrug]

                The shadows practically breathe down Keith’s neck.

                His shoulders stay tensed and bunched as he leads Lance on a winding path through dark alleys, further and further away from the motorcycle he left at a parking meter, and closer and closer to the rendezvous point outlined in the book he’d stupidly left back home, sitting open on his desk for Adam—still grieving, completely unaware of Keith’s studies—to find.

                He clutches a flashlight in one hand; the other is firmly interlaced with Lance’s, and in another life, another time, maybe Keith would let himself indulge in that fact and fall apart over it, fawn and swoon and blush at the mere idea of affection initiated by Lance.

                But he can’t.

                They’re both in danger and it’s Keith’s fault and if Lance doesn’t make it out of this, or if Keith doesn’t make it out of this and leaves Lance to deal with the aftermath—

                “Keith, where are we going?”

                Yeah, leaving him to clean things up without knowing the full scope of what he’s gotten himself into would be a real dick move.

                He didn’t explain much, on the way over. Just that he had to meet up with a friend he fell out with years ago (and left Lance guessing, because being friends since they were five, Keith’s never had a friend Lance didn’t know about), and he needed someone else to come along. He didn’t tell Lance it was in the sketchiest part of downtown, or that his contact may not have even been human. Not in the least.

                **_liarliarliarliarafraidaren’tyoulittleboywouldbeatragedyifsomethinghappenedtohimyou’re scaredabouthimgettinghurtaren’tyou—_**

                _They’re getting worse._

                He could bear the voices when he was little, when his dad and then his foster parents and then Shiro’s parents all wrote them off as him making things up, as him playing with imaginary friends. But now they echo in horrifying hisses around them, and his grip on Lance’s hand tightens, like if Lance slips away, the shadows will surge in, will take him—

                “I told you the building’s kinda sketchy,” Keith answers as they turn around another corner, and Keith stops in his tracks as they come face-to-face with nothing but a dark stretch ending in solid wall. No doors, no windows.

                No voices.

                Plenty of shadows.

                Panic swells like a balloon and then bursts in Keith’s chest, as he takes a trembling step back. This is exactly where he should be, so why aren’t there—?

                _Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck._

                Keith watches as the shadows move, definitely on their own accord, and swirl until there’s a massive group of humanoid figures in front of him. In unison, they all open up what appear to be white eyes; smoke or steam or magic, Keith can’t be sure, but wisps curl into the air at the edges of their eyes. His fingers, numb, fumble to raise his flashlight, but then he looks down.

                It’s already raised.

                The battery’s out.

**_hellokeithlovelytoseeyouagainweseeyou’vebroughtafriendwewonderifhe’llbeasfunasthebrother_ **

                “No,” Keith says out loud, and shifts back again, gravel crunching underfoot as he presses in against Lance, moves his elbow up like it’ll do him any good. “Leave him alone. Just tell me why you wanted me here.”

                **_forhimcan’tyousee_**

                “No!” Keith repeats. “You never mentioned him! You wanted me, now _tell me what you want!_ ”

                “Keith,” Lance starts, while Keith’s heart whacks against his chest so hard Keith’s afraid it might crack bone and break free.

                He holds Lance’s hand harder, so hard his fingernails press into Lance’s skin and his knuckles turn white, but he can’t let go. He needs Lance to stay with him, if he lets go he’ll _lose him_ —

                **_you’reafoolishboykeithcan’tyouseethat_**

**** **_youholdtheexactreasonwewantedyoutocomewe’resurehe’llmakeafineadditiontoourcollection_ **

                “Collection?” Keith repeats, while Lance tenses up, takes another step back only to scream, because when Keith whips around there’s a hand on his shoulder, dark as night, dripping down him like freshly-spilled ink as it tries to grab onto his arm.

                Keith yanks Lance away from the shadow and slashes out with his flashlight, like it’ll do any good when it’s dead. Lance tries to shine his own light, only to find that its battery’s out, too. They’re surrounded, in the dark, little to none of the streetlights spilling back here.

                _I’m a fucking idiot._

                Whoever’s behind this—whatever, whoever’s controlling the shadows, whoever left the clues in that book—they weren’t helping him.

                _Run, you moron!_

                But he can’t. The whispers get louder, broken up only by the shrieking laughter of the shadows closing in, and fear squeezes Keith’s heart until he can’t breathe, because Shiro’s gone, he’s going to lose Lance, they’re _both_ going to die and he can’t do anything—he’s too weak, too unsteady—Adam’s going to lose him, too, and the one trail they have will go cold with Keith’s corpse—

                **_saygoodbyelittlelionyoucan’troaranymorecanyou_**

                “Keith!”

                He’s shouting, and then he’s running, and Keith’s stumbling after him.

                He doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand, not once. He wheezes for air as he pulls Keith back the way they came, past dirty brick drenched in darkness, boots pounding against jagged, cracked, broken asphalt. Keith’s vision blurs and for a second he thinks he’s dying—

                **_notyetyouaren’tbutsoonyoushallbe_**

                —but then Lance looks back and swallows hard and says, “Stay with me here, Keith.” And then Keith realizes his vision is blurry because he’s _crying,_ because they’re never going to make it out of here.

                “Don’t listen to them,” Lance urges, voice strained. “Focus on me, okay?”

                _Focus. Focus on Lance._

                Lance squeezes his hand the same way Keith squeezes his, desperate and hard and Keith has to focus, they have to get out, _Lance has to make it out of here, at least._

                If Lance speaks to him after this, if Lance doesn’t cut him off once they’re out of here, Keith will consider it a miracle, because he’s an asshole for not explaining before, for not telling him about... _whatever_ the fuck it is they’re dealing with. _He’s_ dealing with, because now the darkness, shadows, demons, _whoever_ want Lance too, and Keith can’t let that happen.

                “This way!”

                Light—street, streetlight, orangey-yellow spilling from a pole, illuminating his motorcycle, still parked next to the meter—

                And then it blows out.

                “Fucking—!” Keith shouts, and he’ll be damned if he can’t get Lance out of here. His legs pump underneath him as they break free of the confines of the alley walls and back out into open street.

                “How much do you trust me?” Keith asks breathlessly as he finally releases his grip on Lance’s hand— _mistakemistakemistakemistakemistake_ —and swings a leg over his bike as he climbs on.

                Lance risks the glance back, terror flashing in his expression as he scrambles to get on the bike behind Keith.

                “With my life, now let’s go!”

                And Keith’s stomach, traitorous and with an awful sense of timing, somersaults as he revs the engine, while Lance wraps arms around his waist and presses his chest all the way up against Keith’s back, presses his face into the slope of his neck and shoulder.

                They tear down the street on Keith’s bike. In the corners of his eyes, he watches the shadow move and weave through buildings, blow out light after light in their pursuit of the pair.

                The neighborhood. Keith just needs to make it back to his house in his quiet little neighborhood, with the people who will notice something wrong if the shadows tear through—not this sparse, run-down corner of downtown.

                “Lance, tell me you’re still here,” Keith chokes out, but he knows, feels Lance’s hot breath on his neck as terror winds around his lungs.

                “Still here,” Lance manages, and tightens the arms he has around Keith’s waist, presses in closer if such a thing is possible.

                The traffic light just down the road catches Keith’s attention; just like everything else down here, it’s _not fucking working_ , and flashes yellow, yellow, yellow for caution, yellow to slow down.

                So Keith speeds up, and above their heads, the light shatters, and glass and plastic rain down in their wake. Keith’s chest tightens and breath comes sharper, while nausea rolls over him, but if he stops the bike to puke then they’re fucked, absolutely _fucked_ , and Keith’s not having it.

                “Please talk to me,” Keith whispers, but _they—_

                **_wethoughtyoudidn’twanttohearuskeithwhythesuddenchangeofheart_**

                “Lance, _please_.”

                “What do you want me to say?”

                Lance is nearly shouting over the motorcycle, over the shrieking and hissing of the shadows, and over Keith’s terror, egging him into shouting, too, because it’s what he and Lance do best, have done best for years.

                “Anything,” Keith responds.

                So Lance starts singing, and it’s actually kind of ridiculous, because Keith’s pretty sure he’s singing Britney Spears’ _Toxic_ , at a time like _this,_ but Keith latches onto it anyway, anything to keep him grounded.

                Lance’s shout-singing drowns out the dark, as Keith closes in on their neighborhood, and the voices fade until Keith can’t hear them anymore. Lance finishes just as they hit the driveway, where Keith cuts the engine, and for a moment it’s the two of them, sitting balanced on the motorcycle.

                Then Keith struggles out of Lance’s grasp, staggers off the bike, and pukes in the front yard.

                Lance is on him instantly; pulling his hair back, a steadying hand against the column of his spine.

                Keith starts crying, at some point. Maybe because of the smell. Maybe because of the acid and bile burning his throat. Maybe because he’s doing this in front of the entire neighborhood. Or maybe because he’s downright terrified, and he’s no closer to finding Shiro.

                And Lance.

                He’d be lying if he said part of his crying isn’t because Lance hasn’t run, but instead he’s here, rubbing his back, pulling him into a hug once he’s finished, regardless that he just hurled his guts up all over the lawn. Keith shakes in his grip and weakly returns the hug, as Lance threads fingers through his hair and tries to quiet him.

                “Inside,” Keith croaks.

                He can still _fucking see them,_ slinking through the neighborhood, watching, waiting. No longer in just the corners of his eyes—now they stand in plain view, taunting, _daring_ him to try and do something about it. And the sick feeling still clings to him; he needs to lie down, needs to process, _needs to explain to Lance._

                “Okay,” Lance murmurs, and ushers Keith up to the front door. It’s already open, because Adam knew he was going out but not where. By now, he’s probably asleep. Either he’s managed to make it upstairs or is passed out on the couch, and Keith pokes his head into the living room and finds it empty.

                So that’s where he’ll sit with Lance.

                He indicates as much by shuffling in that direction as Lance closes the door behind them, and then follows. Lance’s weight dips the couch when he sits down and presses in right against Keith, and for a moment Keith wants to believe his life hasn’t gone absolutely batshit in the last month, that he’s living normally like the rest of his eighteen years on this earth, that he and Lance are together and about to kick back and fall asleep for the night in a crappy apartment with an asshole landlord.

                But they’re not.

                Keith’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to figure out where to begin with all of this, but Lance beats him to it.

                “What’s going on, Keith?”

                Keith still debates where to start. He almost tells Lance _you won’t believe me_ or _you’ll think I’m out of my mind_ when he stops. Remembers Lance’s voice in the alley, _“Don’t listen to them.”_

                And the words come tumbling out of him.

                “The shadows,” he starts. “As a kid, y’know, I’d...I’d see these people in the corners of my eye and sometimes right in front of me, a-and I’d hear these voices. First they were written off as imaginary friends, and then...and then they kinda disappeared for a while, but-but not fully. They...they lingered, I’d see them and I’d convinced myself it was just sleep deprivation, or-or maybe some kind of psych disorder? I...I told Shiro. He told me that I just wasn’t getting enough sleep and was seeing things…”

                Lance’s arm comes down, warm and heavy on his shoulder, and draws him in closer; he barely notices, because his ears ring as he recalls night after night this week of on-and-off sleep, night terrors, the thing in the corner of his room, staring. He’d been convinced it was a trick of the light, of his eyes, of his exhausted brain.

                “Then Shiro disappeared,” Keith says, “and I know...I-I’m not seeing things, I’ve done research, this...I’m... _something,_ or _someone,_ is out there and they have Shiro and they’re...they’re controlling these shadow people, or they _are_ the shadow people, a-and...I-I don’t know if it’s ghosts or demons or something else but I’m not seeing things. I can’t be! You saw them too!”

                “I did, Keith,” Lance says, and his voice is gentler, quieter than Keith’s, soft where his is harsh. “Have you been sleeping?”

**_hedoesn’tbelieveyouhedidn’tseeushe’slyingtospareyourfeelingsandwe’regoingtocomeforhimhe’llregrethislieseventually_ **

                “I told you, it’s not—”

                “I know it’s not sleep deprivation,” Lance interrupts evenly, and doesn’t raise his voice. Keeps it low. “Answer the question, Keith.”

                “No.”

                His answer escapes him in a single exhale. He can’t sleep—that’s when they _come,_ that’s when they got Shiro—he can see them, lurking in the corners of his room—can’t sleep even with the light on, because there are still corners—they still manifest—still watch and wait for the right time—and now that he knows, they can blow out a light if they need to—

                “I can tell.”

                There’s a beat of silence, as Lance’s words hang in the air, and then his free hand is on Keith’s cheek, and _this is so not the time, Lance,_ Keith thinks, as Lance’s thumb tentatively runs along the dark bags under his right eye.

                “You need to sleep, Keith,” Lance says, and Keith’s gut twists.

                Can’t he see? If he sleeps, he _dies_ —Lance must want that—has to be an illusion— one of _them_ , his touch meant to distract—these _things_ know his deepest fears and desires, they have to be taunting him—

                **_yesyesgood_**

                “Keith, please.” A lock of his hair gets pushed behind his ear and Keith is frozen, utterly petrified in Lance’s arms, and something in his chest shatters.

                This _has_ to be Lance, the same boy on his motorcycle fifteen minutes ago, the same boy singing _Britney fucking Spears_ just to keep making noise and keep Keith from losing it, the same boy holding his hair back when he threw up, his best friend of over a decade, because these creatures are fucking _soulless_ and could never conjure up someone as beautiful inside and out—

                “I’ve been seeing them for years, too.” Lance pulls him in against his chest when it’s clear Keith’s zoning out and draws him back into the present, one hand firmly against the back of his head like a shield from the rest of the world. “I didn’t think anything of it. I just thought it was my eyes playing tricks but I swear, I’m not messing with you. I know it’s...dangerous.”

                Lance shivers, and up against him like this, Keith knows the tremor runs bone-deep, a testament to years of nightmares and poor sleep, the same years Keith’s suffered through, and all this time they’ve suffered _alone?_ Never bothered to tell each other?

                **_helieshecan’thearusdon’tbelievehim_**

                “I don’t know why we can see them,” Keith whispers. “I don’t _want to._ ”

                _I want to sleep normally, I want to not be panicking all the time, I wish I could go back to ignorance and just pretending I was fucking seeing things that weren’t really there, I wish…_

                “I know.”

                Keith didn’t intend to break down, especially not in front of Lance and not at one in the morning on a Saturday, but that’s exactly what he does. The first sob breaks free of him and Lance is holding him closer and he cries.

                He’s always believed in the paranormal, the supernatural, the abnormal. Cryptids, ghosts, demons—you name it, he hoped it existed, because it fascinated him, because that’s the beauty of looking through a window, isn’t it? A protective barrier to look and observe without harm, and the shadows have smashed it and stomped the pieces into dust.

                **_ashestoashesdusttodustashestoashesdusttodustashestoashesdusttodust_**

                “You have to sleep, Keith,” Lance repeats, and Keith pulls back abruptly, to stare at Lance with wet eyes, but Lance cuts him off before he can get a protest out. “I’ll be right here. I’ll keep the lights on, I’ll even stay up and sleep later, but you need to rest, _please._ ”

                Keith keeps staring.

                He stares as silent tears slide down his face, because this is definitely not how he envisioned spending his night.

                “Keith.” Lance keeps _saying his fucking name,_ and it’s music to Keith’s ears, and he wishes this weren’t happening while they’re being pursued by fucking demons-shadows-what the fucking _ever_ — “How much do you trust me?”

                Lance asks while wiping his tears away with a touch like a caress, and Keith almost combusts. This is too much, far too much for his poor heart, anxiety and panic pressing in from all sides. His breath momentarily catches in his throat, and then the words find their way out:

                “With my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well
> 
> anyhoo
> 
> i haven't worked on soopits in forever i should probably...do that...smh i just wanna get to the s7 and 8 arcs fgrergrgerbeg alright bye
> 
> stan [deceit so natural](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406) u cowards


	7. twenty minutes away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: internet friends  
> alternate universe: modern au  
> characters: keith, lance; off-page pidge, hunk, allura; mentions of shiro, adam  
> relationships: keith/lance, mentioned adashi, broganes  
> other tags: strangers to friends to lovers (sort of), discord, texting, first kiss
> 
> after three years of chatting over the internet, keith and lance finally meet in person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brain: can u go one au where keith and lance aren't in an established relationship  
> me: mutual pining  
> brain: can u go one fic where they don't know each other  
> me: ...amnesia--  
> brain: ONE FIC WHERE THEY BEGIN AS STRANGERS  
> me: no fuck you
> 
> anyway i love established klance voltron canon put me through hell this is my city now

                The train station is crowded as hell and unbearably loud.

                Normally Lance would be okay in a place like this, but today he’s anxious. His leg bounces as he waits, watches other trains pull in and out with wheels grating on tracks, squealing, screeching while people move about him in throngs.

 

###  **#the heathen gallery** talk shit get hit

 **lava boy** Today at 3:41 PM  
i’m almost to the station

 **pidgeotto** Today at 3:41 PM  
lance is quaking

 **sharkboi** Today at 3:42 PM  
shut ur fuck pidge

 **gordon ramsay 2.0** Today at 3:42 PM  
this is so exciting!!!  
lance will finally stop blowing up my phone every night complaining that his ~soulmate~ has lived twenty minutes away for the last three years they’ve been talking

 **˚** **✧₊** **princess sparklepants** **˚** **✧₊** Today at 3:44 PM  
TGHRYTEHERHERSHEGR

 **lava boy** Today at 3:44 PM  
he what

 **sharkboi** Today at 3:44 PM  
i will kill u in ur sleep hunketh

 **gordon ramsey 2.0** Today at 3:45 PM  
then whose phone will u blow up to scream about keith’s selfies

 **sharkboi** Today at 3:45 PM  
this is betrayal of the highest order

 **gordon ramsay 2.0** Today at 3:46 PM  
tragic  
guys my friendship with lance is over, press f

 **pidgeotto** Today at 3:47 PM  
f

 **˚** **✧₊** **princess sparklepants ˚** **✧₊** Today at 3:47 PM  
f

 **lava boy** Today at 3:47 PM  
f

 **sharkboi** Today at 3:48 PM  
KEITH

 **˚** **✧₊** **princess sparklepants** **˚** **✧₊** Today at 3:48 PM  
LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **pidgeotto** Today at 3:49 PM  
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

 **lavaboy** Today at 3:50 PM  
i’m pulling in, see u soon loverboy

 **sharkboi** Today at 3:50 PM  
HTRGTEHJTRHJRTDHJMTRYDTHERHBER

 **gordon ramsay 2.0** Today at 3:50 PM  
lance.exe has stopped working

 

                More hissing and squeaking and grinding as another train rolls into the station, and Lance leaps up from the bench he’s been sitting on for the last hour, with his bag tightly clutched in his lap.

                He’s been waiting for this day for the last three years since he started talking to Keith over Discord. They’d both joined some server, for some fantasy game or other, and something...it clicked. Lance invited him to join his own server with a group of friends from home, and then suddenly they were sending each other direct messages, exchanging phone numbers, Snapchats…

                _“How did you not put together the area codes?!”_ Pidge had shrieked over voice chat one day.

                _“Big dumbass energy,”_ Allura had chimed in immediately after.

                It was an exchange that left Lance making unintelligible noises, while Keith blushed and thanked his lucky stars that Lance hadn’t been able to see him—a fact he only admitted months later, after they’d gotten together, during one of their frequent (read: daily, sometimes more than once) FaceTime calls.

                Lance’s phone vibrates, then, and draws him out of his thoughts. Not Discord, this time—iMessage.

 

 **keef <3** just now  
red beanie today

 

                Red beanie. Red beanie. Lance knows the hat he was talking about. His eyes flit about the crowd pouring out of the train. People in suits, business dress. College kids in outfits ranging from business casual to _I rolled out of bed two seconds ago and couldn’t give less of a shit no matter how much caffeine I ingest._ Parents pushing strollers, carrying toddlers, tugging young children along.

                And then Lance spots him.

                It’s not the beanie with the tan pompom that catches his attention, like Keith is probably assuming. Nor is it his eyes, unusually closer to the purple side of the color spectrum than most blue eyes Lance has ever seen, although once he spots him, their gazes lock, and they steal the air from his lungs.

                No, he spots Keith by the tangle of black hair at the back of his neck.

                His fucking mullet.

                He doesn’t care that he’s surrounded by people. Lance runs for him, slips past people too slow to get out of his way, and then throws himself into the arms that open up and let go of the suitcase they’ve been dragging along, so hard that Keith shouts in surprise and stumbles back a few feet, balance nearly giving out.

                “Keith!”

                The name leaves Lance’s mouth in a burst of giddy laughter as he practically crushes Keith in his grip, although Keith hugs him back just as fiercely and buries his face into the side of Lance’s neck—a death grip if Lance has ever felt one, as if this first meeting might be their last, and Lance’s heart goes supernova.

                Keith smells like woodsmoke. Lance gets a whiff of it when he inhales and wonders whether he’s wearing cologne, or he’s recently been near a campfire, because several of his tales about his pastimes included hiking and camping and spending time in the quiet parts of the woods.

 

### @ **kkogane**  AKA the boyfriend <3333333333

 **kkogane** 06/27/2017  
i’m actually gonna be gone this weekend

 **lanceylance** 06/27/2017  
oho????

 **kkogane** 06/27/2017  
yeah  
my brother and i went camping a lot when we were younger, we’re trying to start that up again  
except he’s taking his fiancé along so i’ll probably just spend the whole time hiding or taking photos or some shit -_-  
i swear he’s more obsessed with adam than u are with my mullet

 **lanceylance** 06/27/2017  
keithers i hate to break it to u but i don’t think that’s possible  
but also he’s in LOVE let him be happy

 **kkogane** 06/27/2017  
love bleh

 **lanceylance** 06/27/2017  
WHAT DO U MEAN _LOVE BLEH_  
LOVE IS BEAUTIFUL

 **kkogane** 06/27/2017  
not when ur openly gay and half of ur school is full of homophobes  
besides i don’t really get that many crushes  
and people don’t get crushes on me  
,,, ,, ,

 **lanceylance** 06/27/2017  
:((( everything okay buddy  
u wanna talk abt anything???? i may talk a lot but i’m a good listener too

 **kkogane** 06/27/2017  
…….  
u promise u won’t say anything  
like not even to the rest of the gc

 **lanceylance** 06/27/2017  
ofc

 

                And he’d explained—his past, his abandonment issues, his lack of trust in others. He’d only told him because they’d been nearing on a year and a half of internet friendship, and somehow it was enough to get him to trust _Lance_ , of all people.

                The memory surges up as an ache in Lance’s chest as he holds Keith tighter, an effort for this hug to make up for every other one he’s lost out on in the past, and it must be working, judging by the way Keith’s own grip loosens as he practically melts into Lance’s embrace, melts into a puddle of mullet and marshmallow jacket.

                “I’m so glad this is finally happening,” Lance whispers.

                Keith’s a little taller in person, too; nearly Lance’s height, where Lance thought he had at least a couple inches on him. But it’s okay; equal height means equal kissing opportunity.

                _We’ve gotta share a brain cell,_ Lance thinks, because immediately after the kissing comment crosses his mind, Keith draws back slightly, looks at the crowd around them, levels eyes at Lance; and somehow, Lance can read the question in them.

                _Are you out? Are you okay with this?_

                Lance smiles and his face flushes, because he’s been waiting for this day for what seems like forever, has been waiting to finally hold his boyfriend instead of stare at the pictures in his phone, has been waiting to kiss his mouth instead of studying and wishing.

                He manages a nod, and then Keith nods, too, and leans in. Hesitant as hell. He lets out a shaking breath that ghosts across Lance’s skin, raises his eyes back to Lance’s one more time, and then shuts them, closes the gap.

                Keith’s mouth is soft, just the way the rest of him feels, so at odds with his jagged exterior. It’s endearing, really, and Lance’s heart flutters at the thought of it, that he gets to have Keith’s sweet side, his gentle side. It’s a fragile thing he holds with careful hands as he searches for the right angle, because this one isn’t terrible, but it’s not... _let me tilt my head...yeah, alright, this is better._ And Keith moves with him until they hit the right spot, right enough for Keith to be the one to pull Lance in deeper, like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this.

                _Our first kiss,_ Lance thinks. It’s in a crowded, dingy train station, surrounded by shouting people, but somehow he wouldn’t have it any differently. And hopefully...hopefully this is just the first of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they
> 
> alright bye i have a class to go to 
> 
> stan dsn u cowards


	8. one more time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: garrison  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent after s3  
> characters: keith, lance, iverson; mentioned shiro, adam, pidge, hunk, romelle, allura, matt, sam  
> relationships: keith/lance  
>  **trigger warnings: mild violence, threats of violence**
> 
> in which keith and lance infiltrate a garrison that's allied with the galra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so maybe this is a thing that i could see happening in the s8 arc of my fix-it fic except i haven't written that far yet
> 
> also this is way less epic than i imagined in my head but it's fine i've got plenty of time for dramatic scenarios whenever i actually get around to the s8 arc
> 
> also i'm tired the week has finally hit me like a bus
> 
> anyhoo enjoy

                Keith hated this place when he was here trying to make something of himself, taking verbal abuse from instructors, physical abuse from other cadets in his year, and he hates it with a burning passion now, as red light intermittently bathes the halls in the color of blood. The alarm’s been cut off, thanks to Pidge, as he and Lance slink through the abandoned Garrison, hallways scorched and burned by blaster fire.

                “Thermal’s picking up on the blaster marks,” Lance says quietly. “They’re fresh.”

                Fresh, meaning the building’s not totally clear of personnel, of the allied Galra and Garrison forces—Keith’s gut twists and searing anger rushes through him when he thinks about it, thinks about Sam Holt willingly selling out an unsuspecting Shiro and Matt on Kerberos almost three years ago, thinks about the fact that the Galra were on Earth with claws dug deep into Garrison operations for far longer than Keith’s ever been aware of.

                “Keep your guard up,” Keith whispers back to him. His bayard’s already activated; on his belt, his Marmora blade rests in its sheath, a surprise attack in case he needs it. Beside him, Lance holds his rifle, muzzle pointed at the ground. “I don’t trust this.”

                There’s no distress signal from Pidge or Hunk, sweeping another area of the Garrison, no calls for help over their comms. Keith wonders if they’ve made it to the mainframe for the Garrison computer systems, wonders if Shiro and Adam have made it to back to the teachers’ lounges and offices to wipe the place clean.

                Halfway down the hall leading to the hangars, Lance throws an arm up and stops Keith in his tracks. Neither says a word; Keith strains his ears and sweeps eyes over the thermal display on his visor. After a moment, he picks up on the sounds Lance must’ve heard; footsteps, slow and like whoever it is is trying and failing to conceal them.

                Seconds later, readings on the thermal cameras change.

                Lance raises his rifle at the same time that Keith lifts his sword, as the figure stalks the rest of the way around the corner and stops in the center of the hall, right in front of them.

                Iverson.

                He lacks his commander’s uniform. Instead, he wears a standard-issue suit of Garrison armor—and Keith only knows this fusion of Garrison and Galra fashion is the standard now because of the intel gathered by the Resistance, entire exposés written and published under pseudonyms revealing years of corruption and allyship where there should have been none.

                “You two,” Iverson sneers, and while a new spite-fueled fire sparks up the blood in Keith’s veins, he flicks eyes to Lance, and sees him tense up, watches his finger fall to the side of the trigger, because they made a promise coming here, to themselves and to the rest of the team, that they were to disarm and incapacitate, but not to kill. Maybe maim their biggest threats, but not mortally if they could avoid it.

                Keith might have a difficult time with this one.

                Much more difficult than Lance, as he takes a step back in the face of his former instructor, so different from the same boy who’s stood face-to-face with aliens twice, nearly three times his size without so much as flinching, surrounded by weapons, surrounded by hostiles in completely unfamiliar territory…

                “You know,” Iverson continues on, and takes a dragging step forward, levels the massive cannon in his hands at the pair, “when I found Shirogane and Wright in my office, I thought I might find _you two_ here. Two of the worst cadets in this school’s history.” He shifts toward Keith with a nod and a smirk. “You for your discipline problems.” Then Lance, and the smirk deepens into something sinister. “And you for, well,” he gives Lance a disdainful onceover, “ _that._ ”

                Lance doesn’t even speak in his own defense.

                His mouth opens and closes and Keith looks at him, sees the distress lines around his eyes and the way his hands tremble just slightly, and he grits his teeth. Whirls on Iverson and takes a step _forward,_ angles himself in front of Lance.

                “Lance is one of the best pilots we’ve got, now cut the shit,” he says. “What did you do to Shiro and Adam?”

                Keith itches. He could go on for days about how wrong Iverson is about Lance, could take a swing now and have him on the ground, could do a lot _worse_ to him than he’s letting on, but he holds himself back. Bites his tongue. Remembers that he’s not alone, he’s not the isolated preteen he used to be.

                He’s got Lance at his side.

                And Lance has him.

                “I didn’t _kill them_ , if that’s what you’re thinking,” Iverson says, and remains in place even when Keith moves in closer, watches him with his one eye while the thought crosses Keith’s mind to punch the sight out of that one, too. “Higher-ups wanted them alive, so that’s what I did. I kept them alive long enough for my extraction team to go get them. You’ll be joining them shortly.”

                Light flares up in Keith’s periphery as Lance pulls up a projection of the building and lets it flash out in plain sight of Iverson. Keith glances back at Lance, once, and meets his gaze as he blanches. Then Keith shifts toward the projection, at the sudden orange dots spilling in from the hangar, at the others moving down the other end of the building, heading in their direction.

                “You’re a coward,” Keith bites out, turning back to Iverson. “You won’t even fight us yourself, huh?” His other hand shifts behind his back, wraps around the hilt of his Marmora knife.

                “Sometimes cowardice is more effi—”

                He doesn’t finish his sentence.

                Iverson’s suddenly on the ground with a shriek, twitching, hands flying up to his face, exposed by the helmet he wears. Keith whips toward Lance and finds he’s shot his rifle, set to stun instead of to kill, and it’s left Iverson in a heap on the ground. Lance, too, moves unsteadily, and stumbles sideways into Keith, who releases his Marmora knife in time to catch him and right him.

                “Lance—!”

                “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay…” Lance isn’t speaking to Keith. He mutters the words under his breath and keeps his eyes on the floor as his chest heaves, _inhale, exhale, you’re alright, inhale, exhale_ —

                “You’re okay,” Keith joins in, until Lance is firmly back on his feet. “We’ve gotta move. You with me?”

                Lance’s eyes get stuck on Iverson’s form, until Keith waves a hand in front of his eyes, and then suddenly that hand is underneath his chin, gentle fingers tilting his head over and up until he’s looking at Keith.

                “Lance,” he repeats. “Look at me.”

                Not blurry colors, pale skin and dark eyes and dark brows; look _at Keith,_ his partner in the Red and Black Lions, partner in crime, partner _period._

                Keith’s hand falls away to Lance’s shoulder and squeezes him as best he can through the padding of his flightsuit while Lance blinks a few times to clear his eyes, to really look at Keith in front of him, eyes shining bright with adrenaline and concern.

                “You with me, Sharpshooter?” he repeats, and this time Lance nods, swallows down his terror and anxiety because he can’t fail now, not when they’ve come this far, not when Shiro and Adam are in danger, not when they haven’t heard from Hunk and Pidge or the Allura and Romelle or the rest of the Resistance.

                “Yeah,” he finally finds his voice, “I’m with you, Samurai.”

                “You kicked ass here before,” Keith goes, on, but releases Lance’s shoulder and squares his own, turns toward the direction of the hangar and prepares to march headfirst into a battle. “No matter what the hell Iverson told you, you’ve proved him wrong. Over and over again.” One look back at Lance, a wistful smile, like it might be the last. “Do it one more time.”

                Just as Keith begins to painstakingly tear his gaze away, Lance grabs him around the waist and tilts his head, presses their mouths together hard. This can’t be the last time—won’t be the last time—but in case, _just in case,_ because they’ve had close calls before and this one might not be an exception—Lance kisses him like it could be.

                Keith’s mouth is soft and warm and his pulse stutters, as he leans into Lance’s touch, grabs his bicep to keep himself upright, kisses him back like he’s trying to breathe new air into Lance’s lungs.

                In another life, maybe in the future, maybe he’ll never get the chance and should’ve taken his time back in their shared room in the bunker, he’d be easing Keith against the wall—or maybe he’d be the one with weak legs, relying on Keith to keep him steady—either way, he’d take his sweet time, learning every part of Keith and cherishing all of them like the treasure they are—

                Lance pulls back; when he does, Keith’s eyes are wet.

                “Lance…you really…?”

                He didn’t say out loud—couldn’t have. But he feels fire in his blood, and fire needs air: the Red and Black Lions. Shared connections. The Voltron bond.

                Lance nods, and Keith stares for a moment, before laughing.

                “When all this is over, I’m taking you on a date.”

                “What, like this isn’t? This is the peak of romance,” Lance jokes back to him, voice hoarse as they both turn toward the hangars and start in that direction, Lance hefting his gun and Keith his sword.

                One way or another, they’re bringing this war, or at least the war on the Garrison front, to an end _today._

                And they’re going to come out of it alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya so stan my fix-it fic [STEALING OUR OWN PLACE IN THE SUN](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441), all of the chapters for season 4 are posted and they've got a musical episode, so there's that
> 
> if you're waiting on it to be complete then mayhaps read my first vld fic [DECEIT SO NATURAL](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406), aka the fanfic trilogy where i flexed all over canon (and was so angry after s7 that i almost went and started a fourth fic in the series). trilogy is indeed complete and tagged w all necessary warnings/disclaimers/etc
> 
> i'm off to work on 5.01 aka chapter 7 of the fix-it fic byeee


	9. this is real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: movie of choice  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent???? i don't know when??? post-s2??? sometime in s2?? who knows  
> characters: keith, lance; mentioned sendak, shiro  
> relationships: keith/lance  
>  **trigger warnings for injury, mentions of torture, nonconsensual drug use**
> 
> in which lance rescues keith from the galra, inspired by the return of the jedi scene where leia rescues han.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so i was too lazy to actually go look up this scene for specific dialogue references and shit but i do remember han being out of it and leia taking off the helmet and oh kissing that happened too
> 
> i got dsn vibes when i was writing it i miss dsn a lot
> 
> anyway
> 
> enjoy 
> 
> it's short bc i lacked inspiration,,, i def think this prompt was easier on artists today lmao

                “ _This is your worst plan yet_. Hunk owes me twenty bucks when this is over.”

                Lance presses up against a wall and peers around the corner of the mostly-empty prison block. It’s a little hard to see out of the visors that the Galra soldiers wear, which would account for why the Paladins can so easily get the jump on them sometimes. Lance makes a mental note of that, a mental note to have a strategy session solely based on exploiting the armor, but that’s for another day.

                He has a mission to focus on.

                Lance slips away from the wall and darts down the hallway, eyes sweeping over the cell numbers flashing above each one. 2445GH, 2446GH, 2447GH—2448GH. Bingo.

                The ID card from the soldier Lance took down practically burns his palm as he approaches the door. He wastes no time giving into his anxieties, no time pausing and wondering if there’s a trap to be sprung; he’ll take things as they come, because he needs to move.

                He swipes the card in a slit on the pad next to the door. There’s a quiet beep as the pad flashes green instead of fuchsia or red, and the door hisses and begins sliding open. Lance takes a step back for a moment, hand drifting to the gun dangling off of his belt—standard issue for Galra soldiers, more weighty and uncomfortable than his bayard—just in case.

                But it doesn’t come down to that.

                Lance’s stomach lurches and heart shoots to his throat as the prisoner’s head snaps up and eyes flash with terror as he catches sight of Lance and tries to shrink back against the wall he’s chained to. His prison garb is tattered in places, and cuts and bruises speak to weeks of abuse at Galra hands.

                “What do you want with me?”

                His voice is quiet, a hoarse whisper, and Lance knows he doesn’t intend it to be that way, but can’t speak in a voice any louder. Physically can’t.

                “Relax,” Lance says in what he hopes is a gentle voice.

                This rescue hinges on getting Keith out of the cell and off of this base without raising suspicions, without drawing Sendak’s attention, or the attention of any of his actual soldiers.

                Keith’s brow furrows at the sound of Lance’s voice, like he knows it’s familiar but can’t immediately place it. His eyes are hollow as he studies Lance, the spark gone out of them. Lance bites his lower lip, and casts a glance over his shoulder.

                Halls still empty.

                “Keith, it’s me,” Lance says, voice even lower, even softer as he slowly takes his helmet off, cautiously steps further into the cell so the weak light from the single panel in the ceiling catches his face.

                Recognition dawns like the rising sun on Keith’s face, and the breath catches in Lance’s throat as he watches the tears gather in the corner of Keith’s eyes.

                “Lance?”

                Disbelief drips in Keith’s voice as Lance crosses the short expanse of the room and stops before him, and immediately sets to work on unlocking the cuffs.

                “Yeah,” Lance responds. “I’m here.”

                Keith’s gaze remains firmly on Lance, cautious and yet carefully void of most other emotions; different from the mask of indifference or of tense anger Keith usually wears when faced down in a situation with the Galra, when faced down with uncertainty.

                “Prove it,” Keith whispers when one cuff comes undone. His voice trembles as his hand falls from the wall, weak and limp, and crashes down onto Lance’s shoulder. “How do I know you’re not—not—?” He stops speaking for a moment as his gaze grows distant.

                “This is real,” Lance says, and works on the other cuff. It gives way with a click and Keith, malnourished and unable to stand on his own, tumbles forward into Lance’s waiting arms. Lance eases him toward the floor, cradling him, while Keith comes back to reality.

                He’s fixed on Lance’s face and reaches a hand up, fingers barely tracing over Lance’s cheekbone before a wheeze escapes him, and he leans forward and buries his face in Lance’s neck, arms as tight as they can be around him. Lance clutches him just as hard, one hand flat, splayed out on his back.

                “I’ve got you,” Lance reassures him. “We’ve been fighting to get to you from day one.”

                Keith makes another noise of distress, while Lance thinks back on the trap sprung on all of them; dangling Shiro over their heads, an invitation to a remote location to get Keith’s missing brother back. One botched rescue mission left Keith in Galra clutches and Shiro, recovered, in a cryopod for four weeks.

                “I’m here now,” Lance adds, “and I’m taking you home. Can you st—?”

                His question gets cut off as Keith pulls back, only to press his mouth against Lance’s, and it’s a dance he knows the steps to, and he falls in line automatically. He cups the back of Keith’s neck and massages for a few moments. Then he cuts the kiss off, painstakingly, and starts getting to his feet.

                “Can you stand?” he repeats, but the answer is obvious in the way Keith slumps against him.

                Keith confirms this with a shake of his head.

                “They kept...kept...there were serums…”

                Keith struggles to recall any details, but Lance knows. He’s seen it in the videos sent to the team, mocking them, baiting them. They sedated him, put him through hallucinations and simulations until the line between those and reality became so blurred it didn’t exist. Kept him drugged out of his mind so he couldn’t escape on his own.

                Because if he’d been coherent, he’d have escaped a long time ago.

                “Alright,” Lance mutters. He’s got to account for the small change in plans, and glances at the set of spare cuffs on his belt, then at Keith’s freshly-freed hands and his wobbling legs. “You’re gonna have to work with me here.”

                Keith stares for a heartbeat, eyes following Lance’s line of sight. Then he nods.

                “Whatever you’ve gotta do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tomorrow's prompt is youtubers
> 
> go stan [mary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoddpocalypse/pseuds/theoddpocalypse)'s [youtube au](https://archiveofourown.org/series/599386)
> 
> also stan [deceit so natural](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406) u cowards i actually gave hunk characterization
> 
> see u tomorrow!!!


	10. is keith does boyfriend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: youtubers  
> alternate universe: modern au  
> characters: keith, lance, shiro, adam, kosmo  
> relationships: keith/lance, background adashi  
>  **trigger warning for mentions of homophobia, mention of sheith**
> 
> in which keith answers his viewers' most pressing questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry too much about that second trigger warning
> 
> anyway
> 
> youtubers amiright

**Keith Kogane** @kkogane • 3d  
You’ve been demanding, I’m caving.  
Leave questions in the replies and I’ll do my best to answer them in my next video.  
_357 replies • 220 retweets • 1.5K likes_

 

                It’s Keith’s first mistake to post that tweet.

                It’s his second mistake to never specify the ground rules when posting.

                He _has_ ground rules for his channel. They’re to keep his personal life as far away from them as possible, to keep his videos interesting without being over-the-top or crude or insensitive, and to bring joy to his viewers without sacrificing his mental health _or_ the video quality.

                Unfortunately, almost every single reply demands to know the intimate details of his personal life.

                “Guy in the backgr—? Oh, _gross!_ ”

                Keith shuts his laptop and shoves it across the kitchen counter, and then buries his face in his arms and groans. His complaining draws his brother’s attention, because seconds later, Shiro pokes his head into the room and furrows his brow.

                “Everything alright?”

                Keith’s head snaps up and he points a finger in Shiro’s direction. “Stay out of my videos!”

                When Shiro’s face goes blank in confusion, Keith scowls, opens his laptop again, and pushes it in Shiro’s direction. “I have thirsty viewers and I hate it.”

                Shiro’s expression starts off as innocently curious, and soon grows horrified before he finally slowly shuts Keith’s laptop screen and meets his gaze.

                “Are you gonna answer any of them?”

                “I’m gonna _have to,_ seeing as they’re all demanding to know, and seeing as a couple of them put things together from Lance’s videos,” Keith says, and leans forward, fingers roughly carding through his hair as he props himself up on the counter by the elbows. Then he sits up rod-straight like a bolt of lightning. “That’s it, I have an idea.”

                Shiro doesn’t even get a word in before Keith jumps down from his chair, grabs his laptop, and runs off, back up to his room, evidently to do something important about the situation. With nothing left to do, he walks back into the living room and plops down on the couch next to Adam.

                “Everything alright?” Adam asks without so much as looking up from his book.

                Shiro sighs. “People are weird.”

 

 **Keith Kogane** @kkogane • 1h  
Hey @lanceylance you down for a collab?  
_112 replies • 506 retweets • 2.7K likes_  
                 **Lance McClain** @lanceylance • 59m  
                _replying to @kkogane_  
                it’s about time u asked :D  
                _444 replies • 890 retweets • 3.3K likes_

 

                Lance is at Keith’s house in fifteen minutes.

                “I’ve been waiting to collab for so long, you have no idea,” Lance says when Keith opens the door to let him in, but then he sees the scowl on Keith’s face and frowns. “Wait, is everything okay?”

                Keith wordlessly wraps his hand around Lance’s wrist and tugs him upstairs, and then shuts the door behind them. His camera’s already propped up and pointed at his bed, where his laptop rests, open, on the sheets.

                “Read the replies. I wanna die,” Keith says, and Lance winces.

                “ _Those._ Yeah. I saw those. I almost responded to some of them,” Lance says. “So...what does me being here have to do with the…?” Lance turns his hand in circles, and then gestures to the camera. Keith bites his lip and looks at him, looks at the floor, the laptop, back at the floor, and then finally takes in a breath and raises his head.

                “I think it’s time.”

                Lance doesn’t even need to ask what _it’s time_ means. Because after nearly two years of being with Keith, he’s spent the last few months asking. Not _pushing_ , not being overbearing about it, backing down when he had to, but asking nonetheless.

                “So you want me to be in the video,” Lance says.

                Keith nods. “If you wanna. But I just also wanted you here in case I lose my shit.”

                “Dude. Bro. Buddy—”

                “ _Lance_.”

                “Babe, moon to my sun, _fuck yeah_ I wanna be in the video.”

                And the next day, Keith posts.

 

 **Keith Kogane** @kkogane • 45m  
Q&A video dropping in an hour. Heathens.  
_49 replies • 369 retweets • 1.2K likes_  
                **bell** @cendrillions • 34m  
                _replying to @kkogane_  
                uh oh why’s he calling us heathens  
                _1 reply • 2 retweets • 17 likes_  
                                **sher** @waywardbaz • 33m  
                                _replying to @cendrillions and @kkogane_  
                                probably the responses on his tweet taking questions  
                                _3 replies • 2 retweets • 20 likes_

 

**IS KEITH DOES BOYFRIEND?: Taking Viewer Questions**

                The video opens up on a plain shot of Keith sitting in the center of his bed, legs crossed, looking directly at the camera.

                “Hey guys, Keith here,” he says, “also known as that guy who does edgy videos because he’s dark and brooding, according to some of you. If you’ve read the video title, then you already know I’ve given in. After several years of you all asking, I’ve finally decided to do a Q&A video. On Twitter I asked you guys for questions, and...you all delivered. Sort of.”

                Keith furrows his brow at that and looks more conspiratorially at the camera.

                (And the viewers don’t see Lance, sitting behind the camera, covering his face and muffling his snorting, because this is Exasperated Keith trying very hard to not seem like he’s about to lose his marbles; the viewers don’t know it, but he does, and it’s kind of endearing. Almost like an angry puppy.)

                “You all had a lot to ask me, and some of it was kind of personal,” Keith says, “so I guess I’m gonna have to answer _some_ of them so I don’t have an angry mob in the comments section. Probably just the same homophobes from last time.”

                (Keith spent hours scrubbing the comments clean on his coming out video until he couldn’t take it. That was just over a couple years ago, when his skin wasn’t quite as thick. He ended up disabling the comments because he couldn’t stomach looking at them anymore. Behind the camera, Lance winces, because he remembers scrolling through them and feeling nauseous, and immediately booking it to Keith’s, for a movie night to clear his mind.)

                Keith pauses at his own remark, and then his frown deepens. “Which, if you’re a homophobe, why are you still here?” Another pause, and then, “I mean, homophobes lack brain cells, we already knew that.”

                (Lance ducks his head down and grabs a pillow and _chokes._ )

                “Anyway,” Keith says, shrugs, and then lifts his phone into view of the camera. “We’ll start easy. This one’s from Caitie, @sunnyjolras: _Hi Keith, big fan. I was wondering if you have a dog? You have dog dad energy_. Dog dad energy, huh?”

                _“It’s true,”_ Lance mouths from beyond the camera, and Keith meets his eyes and smiles, and knows for a fact that this is something his conspiracy theorist viewers would analyze to hell and back if Lance didn’t join him on-screen later on.

                _Patience,_ Keith reminds himself, and drops his gaze back down to the lens.

                “Yeah, I do have a dog, actually. He’s right here, as a matter of fact.”

                Keith jumps down from the bed and momentarily vanishes from view; seconds later, he grunts, and returns to the camera with his arms full of puppy. Giant Alaskan Malamute puppy.

                “This is Kosmo!”

                Kosmo covers Keith almost entirely; only his eyes peek out from over his dog’s head.

                “We adopted him a few months ago. He’s basically my best friend.” Keith buries his face in his fur, and then laughs when he catches sight of Lance pouting. “Well, best non-human friend.”

                Kosmo squirms, and Keith lets him go, only for Kosmo to pad over to the space behind Keith, circle for a few moments, and then collapse in a heap, tail wagging lazily. Keith reaches over and scratches behind his ear with one hand, and then grabs his phone again with his other.

                He goes through several more lighthearted questions, about how he gets his hair so nice (and cuts eyes to Lance, who rolls his but smiles anyway, because he can claim the mullet doesn’t suit him all he wants, but his argument goes out the window every time he runs fingers through it), his morning routine, his coffee preferences (“Cream and sugar. Tons of it. Anyone who drinks it black is a heathen.”), how he shoots and edits his videos, and finally sighs.

                “Alright, so this is where it gets a little more personal,” Keith says. “A lot of you wanted to know if I had a boyfriend. So many of you that I’m not even going to name specific tweets because there were so many. For those of you suggesting it was this guy…”

                Keith pauses, and the video switches to a clip from one of his other recent videos, **OVERTIRED AND BORED #4: How Many Things Can I Blend Before I Break The Blender?**. It’s a zoomed-in, slowed-down shot on the background, of Shiro’s blurry, silhouetted figure walking from the dining room to the living room.

                “I forgot to edit him out, number one, but he should know better than to get in the background, asshole,” Keith says, “and two: uh, no. That’s my _older brother_. Please stop saying I’m dating him before I puke. He’s already engaged, anyway, so some of you—and you know who you are—” Keith pauses, stares at the camera for a moment longer than necessary, “—can please stop thirsting over him now.”

                He blinks at the camera while Lance gets, up, runs into the hallway, and _howls._

                Keith’s eyes flick to him, and his serious demeanor breaks as a smile cracks his face.

                “But yeah, I _do_ have a boyfriend, actually.”

                (Keith imagines this is the point when most people begin shrieking out of sheer surprise or glee; a select few with decent enough sleuthing skills are probably shrieking because their hopes and dreams are about to be confirmed.)

                “At least one of you asked about it in the comments. @SaltyBlueChurro, whose name is ironically Lance, asked, _Is @lanceylance your boyfriend? I feel like I’ve seen photos of you in the background of a couple of his videos._ ”

                Keith smiles at the camera again, raises his head a little bit, and nods to Lance, who rockets into the room and jumps on the bed. Keith yelps as Lance flings his arms around him and squeezes him.

                “Yeah! I am!”

                “Yep,” Keith confirms with a grunt, and then Lance loosens his hold, smiles, closes his eyes, and leans his head on Keith’s shoulder, while Keith drapes an arm around him. “Lance and I have been dating for a while now. He’s wanted to announce this forever, right, Starboy?”

                Lance nods, and then opens his eyes and sits up.

                “We didn’t because we didn’t wanna announce it, have everyone all up in our business, and then like, have things blow up and have to go through a social media nightmare,” Lance says. “But, y’know...some things accidentally slipped through the cracks. I just love him a lot.”

                Lance leans over and kisses his cheek, while Keith buries his face in his hands to hide his blush and groans.

                “And contrary to popular belief, he loves me too,” Lance adds, and Keith raises his head and looks at him. He means to scowl teasingly, but he can’t stop smiling.

                “See?” Lance says, and turns to the camera. “Lovestruck fool.”

                “Okay, okay,” Keith says, and Lance returns his head to Keith’s shoulder, while Keith looks at the camera. “Yeah, so, you heard it here. Lance is my boyfriend. Local makeup guru and musician Lance McClain is indeed Keith Kogane’s boyfriend.”

 

 **Manu** @cxnfiscated • 20m  
keith as a dog dad is everything i didn’t know i needed in life  
_0 replies • 33 retweets • 45 likes_

 **Ina** @moonpinez • 19m  
keith looked so happy to have lance there ;-; they’re precious, i’m happy for them  
_0 replies • 56 retweets • 65 likes_

 **Jhay** @Tododeklance • 18m  
oh my god klance is really canon  
_0 replies • 22 retweets • 57 likes_

 **Lance** @SaltyBlueChurro • 16m  
he read my question AND i was right holy shit  
_0 replies • 13 retweets • 70 likes_

 **eileen** @astralscrivener • 10m  
y’all i just realized lance was the person keith kept looking at before he got on screen,,, wrow  
_(4) images_  
_1 reply • 45 retweets • 113 likes_  
                **caitie** @sunnyjolras • 9m  
                _replying to @astralscrivener_  
                those fond smiles i’m  
                _1 reply • 2 retweets • 49 likes_  
                                **eileen** @astralscrivener • 8m  
                                _replying to @sunnyjolras and @astralscrivener_  
                                they’re in love i’m weeping  
                                _0 replies • 1 retweet • 32 likes_

 

                “Y’think people are gonna start writing fanfiction and drawing fanart of us now?” Lance asks, peering over Keith’s shoulder as he scrolls through Twitter and the comments on the video. “Because, like, if they do, we could totally start a collab _series_ reacting to those.”

                Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m counting on it. Fanfics where you’re a demon or being possessed and my conspiracy-loving ass has to save you? At least ten of those, guaranteed.”

                “Y’think we’ll ever get super nasty—”

                “Don’t even go there.”

                “Just saying,” Lance sing-songs, and kisses the top of Keith’s head. “Regardless of the horrors of Rule 34 we’ll inevitably have to face, I’m glad we did this. I got tired of hiding you.”

                Keith leans back into his arms and abandons his laptop. “I got tired too, not gonna lie. I’m still kinda scared, y’know, because people are weird and people are nasty, but at least I can show you off now.” He tilts his head back to look Lance in the eye. “I love you.”

                “I love you too, Mullet. ...Should we tell everyone over on my channel that this is a thing, or should we let them figure that one out? ...Oh my God, wait. Babe. Stay here, I’m gonna go get the camera. It’s time to stick pointy objects near your eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone whose twitter handle was mentioned is a real person go follow them for a good time
> 
> [manu](https://twitter.com/cxnfiscated) || [lance](https://twitter.com/SaltyBlueChurro) || [caitie](https://twitter.com/sunnyjolras) || [ina](https://twitter.com/moonpinez) || [bell](https://twitter.com/cendriIIions) || [sher](https://twitter.com/waywardbaz) || [jhay](https://twitter.com/Tododeklance) || [me](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener)
> 
> also sher's the one who created the prompt challenge so everyone say thank u sher
> 
> aight see u in the next one


	11. the last stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: historical  
> alternate universe: pre-canon, reincarnation  
> characters: keivax (keith), lancorr (lance), various soldiers; mentioned alfor, zarkon  
> relationships: keiv/lan  
> other tags: galra keith, altean lance, angst  
>  **trigger warnings for major character death (off-page), injury, violence**
> 
> the fall of altea, ft. some star-crossed lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all u need to know abt today's post is the [argument i had](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1094977270144483328) with brain and brian (aka fun brain)
> 
> have fun

                Running won’t get Lancorr anywhere, but it’s his only option.

                The palace still burns in the distance, a beacon hailing the endtimes, just like every myth his siblings, his mother used to read to him to put him asleep and keep him in bed.

                _Run from the Burning Palace, Lan,_ Veri used to tell him. _Beware._

                His lungs ache and burn with the effort of running, and he stops against a tree that must be far enough, eyes sweeping over the land. Here, people are hard to come by. Not like the palace. Not like the city surrounding it, teeming with enemy soldiers, bombed and laser-blasted to smoldering pieces.

                A cry bubbles up in his chest and rises in his throat, and he swallows it down. He can’t cry. Not until he’s to safety. He needs to figure out where to go, how to get out of here. He needs a ship, but those are back at the military hangars, _back near the place he just ran from._

                “ _Please_ ,” Lancorr chokes, sliding down against the tree on weak legs.

                He doesn’t even see his saviors in the sky; doesn’t see the Lions of Voltron. And they won’t come, either; word spread relatively quickly of the beginning siege on the palace by Zarkon of Diabazaal, the Black Paladin...and his slaying of King Alfor.

                They’re not coming, will never come again.

                He’s left to his own devices.

                Lancorr’s trembling fingers hold tight to the gun in his hand, stolen off of the body of an enemy soldier during his escape. It’s still stained with blood, and Lancorr’s stomach roils. This is what it’s come down to; steal what he can, and kill or be killed.

                _Alright, Lan. C’mon. You’ve gotta go._

                Lancorr finally peels away from the tree and rises to staggering feet at the same time that loud crunching gets his attention. Footfalls, over the dried-out grass, seared by the heat of the fires ravaging Altea’s main city. Lancorr swings around with the gun and knows he won’t be able to fire, will have to use the gun as a bludgeon, as his eyes land on someone in a Galra soldier’s uniform.

                “Wait, wait, wait, don’t shoot!”

                The sword that drops from their hands and into the grass sends up small, burnt tufts, and tiny clouds of ash. Lancorr stares at the sword and then the soldier as they slowly, shakily take off their helmet, and Lancorr’s legs almost give out again. Almost.

                “Keivax,” Lancorr breathes out, and can’t help the small sob that follows as he rockets forward into the soldier’s arms, abandoning his gun.

                He’s small, for the typical Galra, and with more hair that falls down almost to his shoulders, choppy at its dark ends. Lancorr has about an inch on him, a fact he used to hold over his head—quite literally. Now, though, Lancorr can’t bring himself to joke.

                “How did you find me?” Lancorr asks, and Keivax shakes his head.

                “I knew you’d come here.”

                After the initial fallout, a fallout believed to be no more than a spat that exploded but would end in timely fashion, King Alfor put a halt to relations with the Galra—embargoes on trade, a ban on intermingling. Lancorr often snuck out here, just beyond the city borders, to meet up with Keivax; he couldn’t just abandon him. Not because of some bullshit fight between their leaders.

                “A-And this?”

                Lancorr pulls back and gestures to Keivax’s uniform. Keiv winces, and glances back at the city. The flames outline the profile of his face, red and orange in stark contrast to the indigo and violet hues of his hair and skin, bright on the gunmetal gray of his uniform.

                “I never got the chance to tell you,” Keiv says guiltily, and rubs the back of his neck. “I got conscripted a couple movements ago. This was my first field assignment.”

                Lan flinches back, as Keiv’s arms reluctantly drop away.               

                “D-Did you…?”

                “Gods, no.” Keiv’s own eyes blow wide, like Lan could ever _think_ of that, but he remembers their situation, sees the blood on the gun left in the grass and the obvious tear stains on Lan’s cheeks, his emotions so out of check that the blue, swirling marks on his face, high on his cheekbones and all the way down to his jaw, pulse with light.

                Keiv has spent vargas tracing over those marks with featherlight fingers, has spent vargas taking amusement in watching the glow stutter in time with Lan’s hammering pulse underneath his fingertips. When he reaches out now, Lan screws his eyes shut but leans into his touch anyway. Keiv brings up his other hand and cups Lan’s face as he presses their foreheads together.

                “I ran as soon as I could, I promise,” Keiv says. “I went to go find you. Now, we need to get out of here.”

                Lan forces himself to nod as he opens his eyes and gazes into Keiv’s; and Keiv stares back at him; and then their mouths are on each others’, hard and frantic; and then they’re gone, and Keiv lets go of his face and takes his hand, takes his sword, and Lan scoops up the gun.

                “There’s an airstrip not too far from here,” Keiv says, “and my dad...there’s an old ship that we can get away in—”

                “You two! Stop right there!”

                Lan’s heart jackhammers and Keiv swears under his breath as he turns around, and then blanches at the sight of a whole squadron of soldiers approaching them—he hadn’t even _seen_ them coming—

                Worse yet, Keiv _recognizes_ them, plenty of soldiers he’s spent time with in the barracks, people whose backs he’s supposed to have. The leader pauses when they catch sight of Keiv and realizes it’s actually him, and they raise their hand. The soldiers behind them lower their weapons and wait for orders, while the leader slowly approaches.

                Lan keeps his gun aimed at the ground. Keiv wouldn’t kill his people; Lan can’t kill Keiv’s.

                “What are you doing out here, Korlin?” the soldier asks, addressing Keiv by last name. Their eyes flick down to Keiv’s hand, still intertwined with Lan’s, a hand he’s not willing to let go of. Not willing to try and hide now, when he’s already been caught.

                “Varzo, please,” Keiv says, “I’m taking this one in. I can handle this.”

                “Taking him in, huh?” the leader asks, and sneers in Lan’s direction. “Into your home? Into y—”

                “ _Varzo_ ,” Keiv interrupts, “I’m _begging_ you, just let this go, pretend I died, _I don’t care_ , just let us out of here. It’s not like he’s royalty or anything, we’re just two commoners, alright?”

                Varzo tips his chin at Keiv, while the soldiers behind him ready their weapons, like they know what’s coming. Keiv swallows but keeps his sword down at his side, and Lan clutches his gun, finger shifting until it rests over the trigger.

                “We’ve got orders, Keiv.”

                Keiv steps back while Varzo raises his gun, and opens his mouth to call for his soldiers to open fire, to take them in dead or—

                His order doesn’t finish leaving his mouth.

                The barrel of Lan’s gun still smokes as Keiv spins on his heel, squeezes Lan’s hand, and yells for him to run. Keiv falls behind a step for a moment, an obvious attempt to bring up the rear and shield Lan from behind, but then Lan yanks sharply on his arm and drags him, zig-zagging, around a tree.

                A laser blast still manages to catch Keiv on the leg.

                He goes down with a sharp cry, hand slipping out of Lan’s as he crashes to the ground. Lan whips around and sees him, and then sees the horde of soldiers converging on them. Instantly, he’s at Keiv’s side, and Keiv’s head snaps up when Lan hits his knees next to him.

                “Lancorr—”

                “No,” Lan says automatically, sliding an arm behind Keiv’s back and attempting to pull him up. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

 

                _It’s the last stand Keiv and Lan make together._

_The soldiers around them have no mercy—not for a deserter, and not for an Altean. They’re slaughtered without ceremony, and left behind without burial, as so many Alteans and soldiers were, shortly before Altea was destroyed altogether._

_They had a feeling, a sharp tugging in their guts, when they first got together. They knew, on some subconscious level, perhaps influenced by the gods, the cosmos themselves, that nothing would last between them, as tensions between their people simmered each day, until things boiled over. But the gods took pity on Keivax and Lancorr._

_Legend had it that Voltron would return one day. With it, the Altean-Galran conflict. With it, a pair of lovers whose stars wouldn’t be quite so crossed._

_Surviving Galra, regretful of their role in their downfall in the first place, blending in with other societies, pass on the story of Keiv and Lan. Millions of lightyears and ten thousand years away, people whisper their prayers for the future, wish and hope that the future generations will have a successful Voltron to look up to, to hail as a savior and hero, and that future Keiv and Lan come back together, the way they’re meant to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and yes keith and lance have a happy ending fuck canon)
> 
> alright yeet see you tomorrow


	12. don't rule yourself out yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: role reversal  
> alternate universe: canon-divergence, s3e1  
> characters: keith, lance, black lion; minor allura, pidge, hunk, coran  
> relationships: keith/lance  
> other tags: pining keith, insecure lance
> 
> in which a new black paladin is chosen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> role reversal u mean keith supporting lance mmmmm good shit 
> 
> best shit's when they support each other tho
> 
> anyway

                “I’m not going to try,” Lance insists.

                It’s probably the last thing Keith expects out of the Blue Paladin’s mouth as Allura emerges from Black, thoroughly disappointed with the slightest trace of puffiness in her eyes. Hunk and Pidge’s heads both snap up at Lance’s declaration, but Lance stares at them with the most serious expression Keith has seen on his face in a while.

                “Really?” Coran asks, utterly dumbfounded and about the only one able to find his voice.

                Lance shrugs, and gestures to Keith. “Shiro wanted Keith to be the Black Paladin. If the Black Lion didn’t let Allura in, there’s gotta be some reason for it, because she’s probably the most capable out of all of us.” He pauses with another glance at Keith; Keith’s cheeks flush, and he can probably get away with playing it off as embarrassment, or anger.

                Not relief.

                Not affection.

                “Suit yourself,” Coran says, and then approaches Keith and claps him on the shoulder. “That means you’re up, Keith!”

                And now all eyes are on him.

                Keith swallows thickly and nods to the rest of the Paladins as he stalks forward from the back of the group. His eyes linger on Lance for a moment longer than necessary, linger on the dead-inside look on his face. Then he tears himself away, forces himself up the ramp of Black’s jaw and into the cockpit.

                Keith’s never been claustrophobic, living off by himself in the middle of the desert in a cramped shack. But he nearly suffocates as he walks up to the pilot’s seat. The dead control panels greet him with the barest hum, like Black knows his suffering, knows he’s entered, may possibly power up for him.

                Keith’s stomach roils.

                Hesitantly, he sits down in a chair that feels much too big for his frame, _shoes too big for me to fill_ , and wraps tentative fingers around the levers at either side of him. Then Keith drops his head and closes his eyes, and in the silence, his blood roars in his ears and heart pounds as its beat ratchets up.

                “Please,” Keith whispers, “I’m not the one you need.”

                To his surprise, he feels Black’s quintessence, tickling the back of his mind. It’s like a breath of fresh air and it can’t get to Keith’s lungs through his closing throat.

                “ _Please_ ,” Keith repeats. “If you care at all for this team, _don’t put me in charge of them_.”

                He means to make the argument to choose anyone _but_ him, means to make it seem like he doesn’t care who, but Lance flashes through his mind, there and gone. And of course, the Black Lion picks up on it.

                _“Lance?”_ the name echoes in Keith’s mind and his fists tighten around the controls on instinct, because he expects teasing, expects the same kind of sing-songy, lighthearted mockery the Red Lion gives him for his crush, but there’s none present. Just pure curiosity.

                “ _Yes Lance,_ ” Keith grits out like it pains him, and to a certain degree, it does, because Shiro wanted— _wants, he’s still out there, I know it_ —this for him, and Keith can’t live up to those expectations. They weigh heavily on shoulders too small to carry them. But he knows someone who can fill them, who should get the fucking _chance_ —

                _“Go, Paladin.”_

                Keith doesn’t realize his grip has turned vice-like until the Black Lion’s rumbling draws him away from his thoughts. His eyes flit about the control panel in front of him, and he realizes it hasn’t come to life, hasn’t lit up in the pale violet shades he associates with Black’s quintessence.

                “Thank you,” Keith breathes out, and rises from his seat, exits the cockpit feeling no better yet no worse. The weight remains on his shoulders as he exits into the hangar, and is greeted with the stares of all of his fellow teammates, minus one.

                He has no time to ask where Lance has gone off to before Pidge and Hunk bombard him with questions, demanding to know why Black didn’t let _him_ in, if he’s the person Shiro wanted in charge. Keith succeeds in peering over Pidge’s head but can’t get around Hunk, and scowls, huffs out a breath, and starts walking, leaving questions unanswered.

                “He didn’t say where he was going,” Allura calls after him softly, like she already knows, and Keith pauses, long enough to spare her a grateful glance, and then continues on his way out of the hangar, down into the halls.

                He finds Lance in practically no time at all.

                He’s pacing back and forth, and his head snaps up at the sound of Keith’s approaching footsteps.

                “So, should I say _congratulations_ to our new Black Paladin?” Lance asks, and he tries for a light tone, but Keith detects the bitterness lacing his words. And he’d be bitter too, if he were in Lance’s place. Hell, he’d be bitter in his _own_ place, if Black had responded to him.

                But she didn’t.

                “No,” Keith says, “because I’m not the Black Paladin.”

                “What?”

                The word leaves Lance’s mouth in an astonished gasp, quiet.

                “Yeah,” Keith replies. “Black didn’t respond for me.”

                “So I guess the Black Paladin’s not one of us,” Lance says almost immediately, and Keith blinks.

                He blinks and stares and almost, _almost_ calls Lance a dumbass. Because really, he is. At least at this very moment. But instead of speaking, he reaches out and grabs Lance by the wrist and begins pulling him back in the direction of Black’s hangar.

                “Wh—Keith, what are you doing?”

                _I like a whole dumbass,_ Keith muses, and shoots glance a sharp look. “You didn’t try. Don’t rule yourself out yet. Black hasn’t, so you shouldn’t.”

                “Wait, wait—no. I’m not going in there!”

                Lance jerks his wrist out of Keith’s grasp and stumbles a few steps backwards, and then glares at him once he’s regained his footing. “This is a prank. It has to be. There’s no way that Black _wouldn’t_ choose you! Shiro wanted this for you. There’s no way she wouldn’t respect his dy—” Lance stops, eyes blown wide, and then scrambles to recover, “—wouldn’t go against him at a time like this. We’re in a _crisis,_ and Shiro was smart. If he...if he thought you were good enough…”

                “Sometimes Shiro’s wrong, Lance,” Keith says, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. “And Shiro’s not the Black Lion. He can’t make decisions for her. I think you need to go in there and try. I promise, this isn’t a prank, okay?”

                He holds Lance’s gaze for far too long, because he pinpoints the moment the flush returns, heat rushing to his cheeks, and he ducks his head.

                “Believe me, or don’t,” Keith adds, and starts back in the direction of the hangar, “but you need to try, at the very least.”

                He suppresses a smile when he hears a sigh, and then reluctant footsteps after him. Lance doesn’t call for Keith to wait up, doesn’t jog to meet him, but Keith slows his pace anyway, until they’re side-by-side. Then Lance’s strides lengthen and he enters the hangar ahead of Keith. While Keith slows to a halt beside Pidge, Hunk, and Allura, Lance keeps moving, doesn’t dare look back.

                He marches right into the cockpit with a strange set to his shoulders, like he’s mad. Like he’s mad Keith won’t believe until he sees for himself that Black would _never_ respond to him, not in a million years.

                His loud shrieking reverberates around the entire hangar in those seconds before Black rises to her back haunches and roars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u don't know how much i itched to end this with "and then keith and lance went somewhere private again so keith could smooch the fuck out of his secret boyfriend"
> 
> anyway
> 
> stan [deceit so natural](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406)!!!! first vld fic ever, flexed all over canon, gave literally everyone an aCTUAL ARC and ACTUAL PLOT IMPORTANCE, kl-centric without being romance-centric, aN ACTUAL COHERENT PLOT, VILLAINS THAT MAKE SENSE, angst with a happy ending but not "uwu sunshine and rainbows and everything was back to normal," also did i mention IT'S COMPLETED???
> 
> pls,,, pls love the brainchild that got me thru senior year,,, Bls say nice things to it
> 
> alright yeet


	13. are you kidding me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: disney  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent, probably somewhere between s4 and 5??  
> characters: keith, lance, unnamed king, unnamed queen, sendak; mentioned various unimportant diplomats  
> relationships: keith/lance  
> other tags: bp lance, bom keith, minor character death, established klance  
>  **trigger warnings for minor character death, mentions of blood + vomit**
> 
> in which keith runs into lance on a mission, and wonders who the hell decided to make his life a disney movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya so this is loosely inspired by sleeping beauty, the plot is convoluted and contrived for Reasons but you're just gonna go with it bc i'm giving u daily kl content for free this month mmmmkay
> 
> can u tell i'm exhausted and hitting a mental wall
> 
> anyway

                Keith doesn’t know what to make of Lance, kneeling before the king and queen of Vannelka, explaining that he’s come in peace to secure an alliance with them. From where he hides in the rafters, he gets a full view of the room, and sees no one else here to accompany Lance, and his brow furrows.

                The team doesn’t have the _room_ to send one of their own off by themselves, but that’s exactly what Keith’s come to realize: Lance is here, alone, without an escort, without any sort of _backup_...

                His ship’s scanners didn’t detect the castleship nearby, either; not when he came in here several hours ago on a... _secret diplomacy mission_ , is what Regris had called it with a sly grin, but everybody in the Blade base knows that really just means a spy mission.

                _Why the hell are you in hostile territory by yourself?_

                Keith makes sure his mask is still firmly on his face, helping him to blend into the dark as he watches the king and queen rises from their thrones and walk down the dais, ordering Lance to rise with lighthearted chuckles. Something about them makes Keith’s gut twist, clench, and he slips further along the rafter.

                With the slightest bit of concentration, Keith reaches out for the Voltron bond; it’s still there, he’s definitely still tethered to the Red _and_ Black Lions. He expects to feel the Red Lion’s fiery presence, because he’s certain that’s who Lance was piloting when he left, but he doesn’t get that. Instead, there’s a gust of wind that tickles his mind, undeniably the quintessence of the Black Lion.

                _What the fuck?_

Either Lance neglected to mention this, the last time they sat down and had a face-to-face call over their communicators, or this is recent. As in, _last two days_ recent. If Lance is in Black, then where the hell is _Shiro?_

                Keith presses up against one of the support beams. He needs to get back into contact with the base—his mission’s going to be longer than he thought, because there’s no way he’s leaving Lance here alone.

                He can’t contact them now. Not with the king and queen and Lance down below.

                He also can’t let Lance out of his sight.

                _Screw it,_ he decides, as the royals begin ushering Lance out of the hall, with some quip about a diplomatic dinner they have planned. As in, the same dinner that Keith should be stealing clothes for. The same dinner he should be putting up a persona for, so he doesn’t have to stick to the shadows and rafters like a bat the whole night.

                _No time._

                _Bat mode it is._

                Keith’s hand drifts to the back of the belt on his waist, to the sheath with his Marmora knife. Still there, like it always is. With that thought in mind, Keith leaps to the floor and tucks and rolls, and then slinks out the door behind the trio just before it shuts, before any guards can catch sight of him, a dark blur that blends into the color scheme of the whole palace.

                _Creepy...definitely creepy_ , Keith thinks.

                “We’re glad to have one of the Paladins of Voltron with us,” the queen says kindly, one arm looped through her husband’s as they stride alongside Lance. “Although, we were hoping there would be more of you.”

                Lance shrugs—and only Keith notices the panicked look that briefly crosses his features, the _is shrugging really proper to do in front of the head royals of this kingdom oh fuck I fucked up_ expression—before his posture straightens and he clasps his hands in front of him.

                “Well, y’know, being a _Defender of the Universe_ and all,” he says, drawling on the title, “it’s a lot of hard work.”

                “We’re certain of it,” the king responds. “So your teammates just couldn’t spare a moment to rest and dine with us, then?”

                Lance shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.” And then, before the king and queen even have the time to trade disappointed looks, Lance adds, “They would’ve loved to! But there’s just so much to be done, hands needed everywhere, y’know?”

                “Oh, we understand,” the queen responds. “But fortune has at least graced us with _your_ presence, so not all is lost.”

                There’s a glance at her husband, and then the queen reaches up and squeezes Lance’s shoulder almost like he’s her son, and Keith’s fists clench as he trails behind them. Then the king pauses, and ushers the queen and Lance forward, the rest of the way into the dining room. Keith freezes in place and presses in tight, in the cramped space behind a column, just out of the king’s line of vision, much too quickly for him to see.

                _Go...just go...c’mon…_

                Keith grits his teeth and tilts his head back and shuts his eyes, sucks in a quiet breath, strains his ears to hear footsteps start in his direction, stop again. Not far enough ahead for him to see Keith. Keith still doesn’t move, not until he hears the footsteps turn back around and hurry down the hall to rejoin Lance and the queen.

                Keith counts off ten seconds before he allows himself to move again.

                He moves from decorative column to decorative column until he hits the ones just before the doors to the dining room. Two guards—one posted at each side of the entryway, and they open the double doors for the trio to move through.

                As soon as the doors shut, Keith’s in action.

                He takes the first one by surprise and knocks them out before they can cry a warning to their comrade. The second looks up and a shout _almost_ leaves their mouth before the butt of Keith’s blade connects with their exposed temple. With both of them crumpled to the ground and no one else in sight, Keith cracks the door open and peers inside.

                The swell of a cheer greets him, and Keith finds every back turned away from him, every eye on the king and queen standing on another dais at the front of the room, giving some welcoming speech. Keith spots Lance seated between two unrecognizable diplomats among the several others he doesn’t know.

                _Jiminy fucking Christmas._

                Keith’s eyes scan the room as far as he can see without opening the door further and drawing attention to himself. Decorations, tables lining walls filled to the edges with platter upon platter of food, servants and chefs lined up along with them. No other exits as far as he can tell, except—

                A skylight.

                Or, more broadly, the _entire fucking ceiling._

                Keith’s mouth parts in silent awe at the domed glass enclosing the room and sealing it off from the elements, and makes a mental note of it. It’s the only way besides these doors that anyone can get in or out, which means Keith doesn’t _need_ to watch the dinner party, per se. He could just wait it out, wait until people begin departing, and slip inside then.

                But there’s a tugging deep in his core, something that won’t allow him to leave Lance—or any of these people, for that matter—unattended. It would be so irrational of him to think, if the Blade didn’t have the data on Vannelka’s politics, their methods for dealing with enemies.

                Quiet and unsuspecting, and most usually don’t survive to talk about it.

                _That must be why the circle’s so small_ , Keith thinks. Lance, plus the two diplomats sitting next to him, plus five others. Small enough to disarm anyone who can escape and raise the alarm. Small enough to kill.

                “One of you will have the luck of being tonight’s _guest of honor!_ ” the king announces, then, and draws Keith’s attention. His eyes cut to him, while one of the chefs breaks away from the food tables with a platter big enough for a single dish.

                They set it down directly in front of Lance.

                “A Paladin of Voltron has deigned to join us tonight,” the king says, “and as a _Defender of the Universe_ —” Keith picks up on the mockery of Lance’s tone earlier and grits his teeth, “—we believe it’s only fitting for him to receive our blessing tonight. Now, let us feast! Chefs, bring out the first course!”

                Keith bites his tongue and holds his breath as other servants and chefs move in and set identical-looking meals in front of all the other diplomats, save for Lance.

                And Keith, paralyzed, caught in his indecision over whether he should move or whether he should stay back for fear of causing an even bigger uproar, watches each guest dig into their meal at once, and instantly collapse in their seats—some falling forward, some falling back, some going down on the floor in twitching heaps.

                Lance is no exception.

                Keith suddenly can’t breathe as he watches Lance slump over on the table, but unlike the others, he’s not convulsing. There’s no line of blood—

                _Oh fucking hell._

                Bile rises up in Keith’s throat but he can’t tear his eyes away, because he can’t lose visual on Lance. One hand flies to his stomach and the other remains on the door as he holds himself upright, as the king and queen descend from the dais.

                “Dispose of the bodies,” the queen orders, pointing to a cluster of stoic servants standing with their hands behind their backs, blank-faced as they await orders. Then she points at another two, closer to Lance’s side of the room, and gestures to him. “You two get him to the chambers. Set up a transmission with the Emperor.”

                _Emperor._

                Keith struggles with that piece of information, because technically Zarkon’s still alive, but Lotor’s supposedly officially in charge, but there are multiple factions fighting for the right to claim rule, each one with their own loyal band of supporters, and the debriefing on base didn’t tell him any of this.

                _It’s a very good thing I wasn’t at that dinner,_ Keith thinks with his face paling, and then he wonders what they would have done if the entire team had been present. Knocked out all of them and handed them over? Chose which ones seemed worthy and then killed the others?

                _Focus, focus, focus…_

                The two servants drape Lance about their shoulders and start for the door. Keith ducks into the corner, and means to attack the two of them once they get into the hall and the doors shut, but then there’s a whole _procession_ of servers dragging corpses along. Keith stays in his spot until the procession’s halfway down the hall, and then begins following, constantly looking over his shoulder for the king and queen.

                They don’t come, but they will.

                Keith seizes his window of opportunity while he can.

                Either the servants don’t notice him slowly creeping alongside them, or they don’t care, as Keith eventually makes it to the front of the procession, while the servants begin branching off. The two at the front begin dragging Lance down one hallway, while the rest of them branch off down another. Keith keeps his eyes on Lance, as he’s brought down several more hallways, and then to one that’s quiet, and mostly barren of doors.

                They open up one door and then drag Lance inside, but they don’t shove him in. Not the way most people do when they’ve got prisoners, from Keith’s experience.

                He remains in the hall, lingers outside the door, until the two servants leave. As soon as the coast is clear, he moves, lunging into the room as quickly and quietly as possible.

                “Oh, are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Keith whispers, and lets his mask dissolve and free up his face as he takes in the sight before him.

                Lance, laid out upon a cushy bed, some alien flower clutched between his fingers like a damn Disney Princess.

                Keith opens his mouth to hiss Lance’s name when footsteps sound just outside the door. Panicked, Keith scans the room, and then darts for the closest hiding spot—underneath the bed. He’s barely underneath when the door creaks open, and he watches two pairs of feet move across the carpet, one stopping on either side of the bed.

                _Oh, fuck me._

                “As you can see—” and it’s the queen’s voice, and Keith thinks about grabbing her ankle like a demon and showing her the absolute hell he’s capable of raising with the simmering rage currently coursing through his veins, “—we have the…well, I would say _Blue Paladin_ , but he arrived in the Black Lion, so we have the Black Paladin and the Black Lion in our possession.”

                _“And what’s happened to him?”_

                _There’s no fucking way, now you’re just messing with me,_ Keith thinks, and he doesn’t even know who _you_ is. Whatever higher powers are out there, the being that controls the sim, _who-fucking-ever_ is running this shitshow and is responsible for placing him here, pinned between Lance and his cramped hiding spot and the king and queen and fucking _Sendak’s_ voice crackling over what must be a holographic projection, judging by the blue glow illuminating the foot of the bed.

                “Well,” and this time it’s the king, and he sounds reluctant. Keith arches one eyebrow as he goes on, “we decided on a last-minute workaround for the fact that only one Paladin showed up, and not five. Surely, you’d like all of Voltron in your possession. He’s been drugged with a fast-acting poison, and we’re sure the Paladins would love to have him back _alive_ , in exchange for the robot. There is just...one small catch.”

                _Oh, what now? True love’s kiss?_ Keith thinks sarcastically, but then the queen finishes: “It would require an act of true love to awaken the Paladin, be it platonic or otherwise. Any chance for interrogation is null. This drug... _was_ created with the aids of several practicing witches, who decided the catch would be...enough to keep someone out of commission in the long-term.”

                _This is utter bullshit._

                Keith would scream, if he could.

                Instead, his fingers practically tear through the gloves of his Blade uniform and dig into his palms.

                _“And it would guarantee that the Paladins of Voltron come right to me. Without their head, they cannot_ form _Voltron, and without the robot itself, they’ll be no match for my forces...brilliant.”_

                Keith glares up at the underside of the bed, like his gaze can pierce through the whole thing, travel through the hologram, and strike Sendak square in the face.

                _“We’ll be meeting shortly,”_ Sendak says, and there’s a pop of static as the blue light vanishes, along with Sendak’s voice and a dim buzzing Keith hadn’t even been aware of until now. He holds his breath as the queen’s feet move toward the door, but the king stays rooted to the spot.

                _You better get away from him before I kick your ass,_ Keith thinks, and then the king’s feet move, too, and then they’re both out the door.

                Keith counts ten seconds before he’s certain he’s truly along, and then he crawls out from underneath the bed and gets to full height, and stands over Lance.

                He seems peaceful, and he’d be a lot cuter without the fucking flower accent piece, and without being in some random bed in enemy territory, and without being _drugged_. He’d be a lot cuter back in Keith’s bed on the castleship, and he’d be even _cuter_ if the _two of them_ were there, waking up after a long—

                _Easy, Kogane._

                Keith massages his temples and momentarily closes his eyes. It’s been too long since he’s been back on the castleship in any form other than a video. He needs to go back— _soon,_ if the present situation is any indication.

                “Alright, let’s do this, I guess,” Keith mutters, and then leans down.

                He takes the time to push Lance’s bangs back and probe for any other injuries, but he seems fine, as far as the face goes. Keith sighs, and cups Lance’s cheek with one hand.

                “You don’t really get a say in this, and I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta do this,” Keith says as he leans in. “Try not to freak out too much when you wake up.” And then he closes the distance.

                He’s careful about it, soft and gentle, and draws back the moment he feels Lance jerk in the bed. He clears the way as Lance rockets forward and sits up, eyes widening as he realizes he’s not in the same room he passed out in. He spares one glance at the flower and his eyebrows knit in confusion, and then he chucks it to the ground, and his eyes find Keith.

                “What the hell—did you just kiss me?”

                “Yeah, and I can explain everything later,” Keith responds, and extends a hand to Lance to help him out of the bed, and to remind himself that _yeah, all that bullshit just happened._ “Right now, we’ve gotta go. Sendak’s forces are coming to take you and the Black Lion.”

                Lance takes Keith’s hand, and then yanks him into a crushing hug, and maybe Keith should’ve expected this, after being gone so long. They’ve got to get out of here, but Keith can’t bring himself to pull away, and instead settles into Lance’s arms the way one settles into bed after an excruciating day, into warm blankets and the same familiar dips in the mattress.

                “I missed you,” Lance says, and his voice is small. “How did you…?”

                “Luck,” Keith says, just as quietly. “Some really convenient timing and a lot of good luck.”

                “Any chance I can get some of that good luck?” Lance asks, and when he pulls back, and takes Keith’s hands, his eyes are wet. A lump builds in Keith’s throat, and he swallows it as Lance goes on, voice wobbling. “Come home, Keith. We—I mean, I need you, but the team...we need you, too. Like, desperately.”

                Footsteps outside the door again cut Lance off, as his head suddenly snaps in that direction. Then his feet shift, and his bayard materializes in his hand. He blinks away the tears in his eyes while Keith draws his Marmora knife.

                “I guess you’re in luck,” Keith says, and the blade elongates. “Tell me more once we’re in the Black Lion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stan stealing our own place in the sun 
> 
> stan deceit so natural
> 
> yada yada
> 
> see u tomorrow


	14. all that fate bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: soulmates   
> alternate universe: modern au / urban fantasy / soulmates  
> characters: keith, lance, haggar; mentioned shiro, adam, veronica, acxa  
> relationships: klance; mentioned veracxa, adashi  
> other tags: pining keith, pining lance, star-crossed lovers (sort of), i spent way too long plotting this magic system  
>  **trigger warning for disturbing thoughts??? i don't know how to tag that oh and also mentioned murder, stillborn children, uhh i think that covers it**
> 
> in which everyone is given a necklace at birth that only matches their soulmates, and gets hot or cold, depending on how close or far you are from their necklace, and keith accompanies lance on the journey to finally meet his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's still the 14th in places i still have time shhh

                Fate is cruel, and Keith wants more than anything to be selfish.

                “It’s getting warmer,” Lance says of the pendant hanging around his neck. It’s a deep violet, inside silver metal woven into a unique swirl that matches only one other necklace in existence—the necklace they’re currently seeking out. So it goes, with soulmates.

                The necklaces are supposed to attract each other, grow warmer in each others’ presence and alert the wearers to their soulmate—or soulmates. A singular pendant for one partner is the most common, although Keith has seen necklaces with two pendants, three, sometimes even upwards of four. Each pendant has its own color, a mix of your aura and the aura of the soulmate the pendant is connected to. Some pendants are too similar in color, and that’s where the designs come in. Unique, two of every kind and no more.

                Keith peers again at Lance’s. Lance claims it looks like the outline of a fire, while Keith swears up and down it looks like an ocean wave. They conceded that it looks like it’s somewhere in the middle, early on in their journey, a journey that tortures Keith with every step. Every time Lance talks about it, Keith is jarred back to reality, and back to the bitter knowledge that he’ll have to let Lance go, eventually.

                It’s not rare to not have a soulmate—barely even uncommon, but just enough for it to make Keith _other_ , like being gay and not being white and being an orphan and having a non-nuclear family haven’t already been large enough potholes in the path of his life.

                He doesn’t really remember having a necklace; there exist photos of him as a young, _young_ child, with his single father, wearing a necklace too far away and too blurry to see, but people have been known to buy fakes to better fit in; to hide that they’re _different,_ to hide that maybe their parents fucked them over for life, because it happens.

                Dating’s...weird.

                Some people date and agree to date until they find their soulmates, while others find that practice taboo, and would _never_ touch anyone who isn’t their promised. Those without soulmates sometimes pair off or group up and call it a day, knowing they’re not supposed to have anything nearly as deep as those _with_ soulmates. And then there are those who reject the whole notion altogether, who date people who aren’t their soulmates and _stay with them, get married, have kids._

                Those are the ones who get punished.

                Their kids are born with problems, born soulmateless, born dead.

                Part of Keith itches to be selfish as he looks at Lance, who fiddles with his necklace with the barest trace of an excited smile on his face, but he can’t condemn Lance to a life like that, can’t ask Lance to throw away his _own_ life to spare Keith’s feelings.

                Maybe it would hurt less, if he stood the tiniest chance, but it’s plain and simple: Keith has no necklace. No necklace, no soulmate.

                He knows of people who lose their necklaces, those who purposely don’t wear them, but they’re far and few in-between and Keith can say with confidence that he’s not one of them. He wouldn’t _want_ to be one of them, when there’s someone like Lance out here, searching for his other half: sweet enough to cause a cavity, gentle when he wants to be but loud and in your face at other times, but you can’t be mad because he’s _endearing_ and he’s _himself._

                “You gettin’ antsy?” Keith asks as they traipse through the woods, which is...disconcerting, if he’s honest, but he tries to ignore that, tries to be enthusiastic as he walks side-by-side with Lance and represses the urge to reach out and take the hand casually swinging next to his own.

                “Well, _yeah_ ,” Lance says, and he risks a glance at Keith; the softness in his expression spears right through Keith’s heart, and part of him wishes he’d never agreed to help his best friend in the first place, “I’m about to meet my _soulmate._ Y’know, my perfect match made for me in the great wide cosmos?”

                There’s no smile on his face, no trace of excitement in his voice. His shoulders sag and he sighs and Keith’s heart speeds up when Lance’s hand brushes his. It’s a ghost of a touch, there and gone like he could’ve imagined it, but he _didn’t_. Couldn’t have. His hand burns in the wake of it, and matches the burn in his eyes that he tries to force down.

                There are people out there whose job it is to interpret the stars, who’ve been granted some vision or other that allows them to see threads of fate, to see soulmates walking in plain sight, to see every twist and turn and knot of the string tethering them. They’re the ones who assign the necklaces, working in tandem with not-quite-as-gifted-but-certainly-not-ungifted artisans.

                Keith has no necklace. Must not have that string.

                It’s a betrayal, really, for all the time he’s spent observing the sky, wondering why the hell he had to be like this.

                “Are you scared?” Keith asks, voice dropping.

                Beside him, Lance slows to a halt, gaze falling to the ground as he frowns. Keith stops next to him, watches while Lance’s face goes through the same series of emotions it goes through in the middle of Calc, as he struggles to work out the equations in front of him.

                “Yeah,” he finally whispers.

                “Why?” Keith presses, and they resume walking again, although Lance’s eyes remain fixed on the ground, and he rubs his shoulder. “Is it the prospect of having to be with someone you might not even know, or…?”

                Lance snorts softly. “Or. Yeah, definitely _or_. Maybe a little bit of that first one.”

                Keith tilts his head and studies Lance as they walk; studies his profile, the slope of his nose and the soft curves of his mouth, the way his eyelashes catch the afternoon sun filtering through the trees, the way the ends of his hair curl up.

                “I don’t know why,” Keith says then. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

                And Keith’s known—been best friends with— _has pined after_ —Lance for years, has the authority to speak like that: doubtless, and without hesitation.

                Lance raises his head, and he meets Keith’s eyes. He smiles wistfully, and Keith nearly jumps when Lance’s hand slides into his. His heart whacks against his chest, painful, because _this shouldn’t be happening, Lance has a soulmate, you don’t—_

                “You know,” Lance says, and turns forward again, but he doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand, and Keith has no choice but to follow him along, despite it feeling as though his soul’s trying to detach from his body, “when we were kids, and I first met you, I thought you were one of those people who didn’t wear their necklace because it got in the way. Y’know, sports regulations, it could choke you, that stuff.”

                Lance uses his free hand to fiddle with the pendant around his neck as he talks. It catches the sunlight several times, as Lance twists it and turns it over, rubs a thumb along the spirals. He lets himself glance down at it for a moment, and then looks up again.

                “I liked— _like_ —being around you. When you told me...you told me you didn’t have a soulmate...I thought, _that’s impossible._ There’s no way Keith doesn’t have a soulmate—”

                _Is he trying to rub it in?_ the thought crosses Keith’s mind, as his chest tightens, but Lance isn’t that cruel—would never—

                “I thought, okay, so the universe decided you’re too good to have a soulmate,” Lance says, “because really. Like, look at you.” And Lance looks at him, and swallows thickly, and then tears his gaze away. “You’re...it’s like...I don’t know. I don’t. I don’t even know where I’m going with this, to be completely honest!” He laughs, but it’s so fake and forced that the ache in Keith’s chest worsens and the knot pulls tighter.

                “No, that’s….,” Lance’s voice goes quieter. “That’s a lie. I know where I was going with it. I...I’m scared. I thought...for a couple years when we were younger I was _convinced_ it was you. My older siblings would talk about how they felt when they were with their soulmates, and I _swore_ it was you and I was _convinced_ that you didn’t like that, and so you just...hid your fucking necklace, or something. Knowing that it’s someone else...no, no...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

                Lance cuts himself off. Keith catches a quiver in Lance’s bottom lip before he bites it down and squashes it, and he understands.

                He understands and he wants to fucking _cry._

                “It’s alright.” Keith’s voice comes out a croak as a lump settles in the middle of his throat like a petulant child. He does what he can and squeezes Lance’s hand, like it’ll make things any better. “Sometimes, with you…” A sharp breath, _don’t cry, don’t cry,_ “...Sometimes it felt like I had a soulmate. Like it was you.”

                _But it can’t be you._

                “I’m so sorry,” Lance whispers. “I wish—”

                “You can’t _wish_ ,” Keith interrupts, and his voice is harsher than he intended for it to be, as Lance’s grip on his hand slackens, and Keith lets him go. “It’s...written in the stars, or whatever. All that fate bullshit. It’s just—it is what it is. I’m not gonna fuckin’...come between you and your soulmate. There’s a reason the universe put you with...with whoever. I can’t do that to them, _or you_. Let’s just follow the necklace, or whatever.”

                Keith starts stalking off in what he hopes is the right direction; after a moment, leaves and twigs crunch underfoot as Lance starts after him again, and then takes the lead. The walk doesn’t take much longer; Lance halts abruptly and throws an arm up in front of Keith that he nearly bumps into as they come upon a clearing.

                A clearing with a small house.

                “Oh, fuck no,” Keith mutters.

                It’s some bizarre cross between a moss-covered hut and a log cabin, unsettling as _fuck_ and reminiscent of every woodland horror movie Keith’s ever seen (movies he watched with Lance, under blankets with Lance, throwing up the popcorn bowl and screaming and then realizing he’s gotta clean the mess _with Lance_ ).

                “If my soulmate turns out to be some weird old lady living out in the middle of the woods, I’m gonna flip,” Lance says, and starts forward when Keith grabs his arm and yanks him back.

                “Are you _nuts?!_ ” he demands, one arm flying out, gesturing to the cabin. “Do _not_ go _white person in a horror movie_ on me now!”

                Lance lets out a scandalized gasp and wrenches back from Keith, one hand flying to his chest while his jaw falls agape. “Don’t _ever_ call me white ever again.”

                Keith glares. “This isn’t the time.”

                “Is so!” Lance says. “Look, my soulmate’s in a sketchy cabin in the woods, alright? Either it’s a hermit lady, or a hermit lady lives here and has a granddaughter she’s holding hostage and the granddaughter is my soulmate. Or grandson. Or—”

                “You’re not going in there!” Keith starts. “I’ll drag you out of here myself if—”

                But then he’s interrupted by a creaking noise. Lance jumps and Keith shifts a step in front of him, and then creeps forward. Just the slightest. Just to get a better look. And sure enough, it’s the cabin door. Taunting them.

                “Keith,” Lance says, and his voice _shakes_ , “I need to know why the hell my necklace wants to go in there.”

                “No you don’t,” Keith answers automatically, in one quick exhale.

                “Keith—”

                “ _Lance_.”

                “Keith, I’m going in. You don’t have to come—”

                “I’m not letting your dumb ass die because you decided to investigate alone.”

                Defeat drips in Keith’s voice as he lets go of his grip on Lance’s arm. For a moment, Lance only stares, and then gives Keith a smile. Small and barely there and still pained, and then starts toward the cabin with Keith in tow.

                Lance’s necklace grows hotter as they approach, hot to the point Lance has to hold the chain, hold the pendant away from his skin so he doesn’t burn himself. In all his years, it’s never felt like this—always been cold or cool or lukewarm at best.

                “Is your necklace supposed to be that hot when it’s near your soulmate’s?” Keith asks.

                Lance shakes his head. “Vero always told me hers is warm when she’s with Acxa, but nothing like this. What about Shiro?”

                Keith mirrors Lance’s motion as he shakes his own head. “Shiro says the same thing. He says sometimes he can feel Adam’s heartbeat when he wears the necklace, actually.”

                “Huh. Interesting.”

                The front steps of the cabin groan when Keith and Lance ascend them. They pause just in front of the door, ears straining; when they hear nothing, Keith steps forward and pushes on the door with his fingertips, takes another step, pokes his head inside while Lance grabs his arm behind him.

                But Keith isn’t focused on that.

                He’s focused on the wall on the far side of the room. The light here’s dim, but not dim enough to prevent him from seeing _necklace after hanging necklace_. Especially the one somewhere on the left side of the wall, glowing bright purple.

                The same shade of purple Keith’s been staring at with jealousy and longing for years.

                “Lance,” Keith breathes, suddenly nauseous.

                Lance presses in closer—up against Keith’s back, specifically—and peers over his shoulder. The hand on his arm tightens, grip suddenly ironlike.

                “I thought this was a _myth_ ,” Lance whispers.

                He speaks of the Witch of the Komar, a bedtime story everyone hears as a kid, about the old woman in the woods who steals soulmate necklaces to lure unsuspecting lovers in search of their missing pieces out to their deaths. There’s some bullshit in there about siphoning the energy of their souls, because soulmates have some sort of bolstered powers or auras or _what the fucking ever_ , and those with a soulmate they never find still have untapped potential, or some shit.

                _“This is a story they shouldn’t be telling to kids,”_ Keith used to say, but stares in terror now, as he realizes that, uh, yeah, maybe they should be warning children, or, uh, _contacting the fucking authorities._

                “And that’s my soulmate’s necklace,” Lance whispers, while the beat of Keith’s heart ramps up.

                There’s a tugging, sharp in his core, like the energy in this cabin wants him inside, and he doesn’t know if it’s the witch—if she’s real, which seems to be the case, and the horror coiled inside of Keith keeps growing and pulling tighter—or the necklace or _what_ , but he reaches back. Fumbles for Lance’s hand, and Lance slides it down from near Keith’s elbow until their fingers are intertwined. Steps inside.

                The door slams.

                Keith and Lance both jump at that one, and stagger a few more steps into the room and then stumble to a halt, still grabbing at each other like they aren’t already holding hands.

                “Okay, okay,” Keith whispers, eyes sweeping the room, nothing indicating the presence of anyone but himself and Lance, and Keith struggles to recall the details of the myth, struggles to remember whether the witch can hide in shadows or can manipulate them or neither or both, “I’m gonna go grab the necklace, and then we’re gonna get out of here.”

                Lance nods but still holds onto Keith anyway as they inch toward the wall, toward the glowing necklace—

                And then a withered hand, purpling at the bony fingers, swipes it just before Keith can.

                Keith and Lance jerk back—Lance more so yanking Keith back, and Keith moving with him—as quiet laughter fills the room: the laugh of an old woman. Lance’s arms fly around Keith’s shoulders and torso, pin his arms to his sides as Lance holds him from behind and presses his back to his chest, while Keith reaches up and grabs his arms and holds them, because that’s about all he can do to keep from losing it as the woman steps into the room.

                Stringy white hair flows down from inside of a hood that hides the majority of her face, save for her crookedly-smiling mouth. She dangles the necklace out in front of herself, and Lance winces; there’s a flare of heat from the pendant, and Keith feels it against his back.

                “Well, now,” the woman says, “I remember you. Just a young boy in our last run-in.”

                Keith freezes, and Lance holds him tighter, inches backwards.

                “Oh, dear,” the woman says, and tilts her head. “You don’t remember.”

                No, Keith doesn’t remember, because he spent ten years repressing the memory and about another four finally forgetting the event he thought was some nightmare, thought he _made up_ —

                “And yet, you’ve still managed to find each other.”

                _Mine—that’s mine—Lance’s match—me, soulmate, I’m his soulmate—holy shit—_

                “But until you have _this_ ,” she goes on, and Keith snaps back to attention, snaps back to Lance practically squeezing the life out of him, caught between moving the door or charging this woman while she’s least expecting it, “it may as well be like you never found each other at all.”

                She lets the necklace drop to the floor and then steps over it, blocks Keith and Lance off as she closes in on them, and they close in on a wall, and Keith wishes that he’d let himself be selfish, even for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then the power of soulmates kicks in and they steal keith's necklace back and kick her ass and get their happy ending, no sad endings here canon already did enough of that
> 
> anyway if u want soulmates-but-not-like-soulmates-soulmates-but-def-soulmates read squad up
> 
> if you want me flexing all over canon (as in there's actually a strong case to make that the show writers literally ripped me off) stan deceit so natural
> 
> if you want to watch me fix canon stan stealing our own place in the sun
> 
> for a good time stan all three
> 
> aight bye


	15. you've gotta come to bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: college  
> alternate universe: modern au, college, definitely could be read as the [squad up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199533/chapters/27702090) universe  
> characters: keith, lance  
> relationships: klance
> 
> in which keith has to drag lance back to the dorm before he wipes out in the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's posting is shorter just bc i'm eXHAUSTED i just wanna go back to my dorm and watch let's plays w clare

                “Hey.”

                In the midst of finals, the library is practically deserted; it surprises Lance to hear a voice this late, as soft as the hand on his shoulder. He lifts his head and sees Keith smiling down at him wistfully. Then the seat next to Lance scrapes the floor as Keith pulls it out and sits down next to him, sets down a hot foam Dunkin cup on the table next to Lance’s stack of textbooks.

                “Not coffee, sorry,” Keith says. “Can’t have you up too much later, but I figured you could use this.”

                Keith crosses his arms and leans on the table, as his eyes scan over the books and papers strewn all over the table, at the crease between Lance’s eyes and the lines in his forehead. Then he reaches for Lance’s free hand and places his hand over it, loosely laces their fingers from behind. Then Lance slumps over, and Keith opens his arms and cradles Lance against his chest, gently runs fingers through his hair.

                “You’ve gotta come to bed,” Keith murmurs, and Lance closes his eyes and listens to the way Keith’s voice rumbles in his chest, becomes a siren-song as it mixes with his heartbeat.

                “I’ve gotta study,” Lance mumbles. “Can’t afford—” and a yawn, “—to fail…”

                “You also can’t afford to sacrifice your sleep,” Keith says. “It’s two in the morning and freezing out there, we’ve got a ten minute walk, your brain’s fried, and you’re _already_ falling asleep. Tomorrow’s Sunday, you have all day to study tomorrow. You need to rest.”

                Lance makes some sort of moaning noise and begins pulling away from Keith, but his heavy eyelids keep falling into his line of vision every few seconds, and his limbs are heavy, and Keith is warm, so impossibly warm, and Lance ends up burying his face further.

                “Hey, hey, wait, you can rest _back at the dorm_ ,” Keith says, and tries to draw back, but Lance wraps arms around his waist and holds him tighter, and Keith sighs and sinks down into his chair, and angles himself better for Lance to rest against him. “You can’t sleep here forever, you know.”

                If Lance had the energy to protest, he’d insist that _actually,_ he _can,_ because it’s finals week and that means the library is open for twenty-four hours until the end of the semester, but he doesn’t. He just grunts again and tries to slip deeper into the space between waking and dreaming, tries to find the border that will allow him to cross fully into _dreaming_ when Keith shifts underneath him.

                “Okay, no, you’re not falling asleep in the library. You stay here.”

                Lance has no issues complying, and only really understands about twenty-five percent of Keith’s words as he’s suddenly pushed unceremoniously back into his own chair. He registers Keith standing up, hears textbooks sliding, closing; pages flipping; his backpack unzipping, then zipping back up.

                “Can you _please_ wake up long enough to put on a jacket and get back to the dorm?” Keith asks, and when Lance opens squinting eyes, Keith’s inches from his face, staring insistently.

                The disconnect between his brain and his body makes it very easy for Lance to entirely misread the situation and completely ignore what Keith’s just said, because instead of standing up and tugging on his puffy coat, he just tilts his head and leans forward and presses his lips against Keith’s, reaches up a weak hand and cups the back of Keith’s neck and pulls him in.

                Keith doesn’t exactly protest.

                Not at all, really.

                He braces himself on the back of the chair and his fingers touch Lance’s cheek in a light caress, deepens the kiss where he probably shouldn’t; but it warms Lance, and brings him down from his stress highs from earlier in the night. He _relaxes,_ and while it helps his emotional state, it doesn’t exactly help the issue of himself falling asleep.

                “Lance, _please_ ,” Keith whispers when he pulls away, and leaves Lance leaning forward, wanting _more_ —

                Lance nearly smashes his head on the edge of the table.

                “Okay, nononono, c’mon, let’s not do that,” Keith says, and he pushes Lance’s shoulders back. “Come on, Starboy. Put on your jacket, put on your backpack, and then you can lean on me the rest of the way, okay? I’ll keep you safe, I’ll get you back in one piece, but you’ve gotta work with me.”

                Reluctantly, unwilling to really move, Lance finally rises from his chair.

                His legs almost give out from underneath him, but Keith’s already there, catches him before he can fall.

                “Jesus, how long have you been sitting?” Keith asks, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Actually, never mind, that doesn’t matter. You’re getting up now.”

                He helps Lance into his jacket, and then eases his backpack onto his shoulders. He really doesn’t trust Lance to carry the hot chocolate back, and scoops that up once one of Lance’s arms is draped over him, and he’s got a steadying arm around Lance’s waist.

                “You’re going right to bed,” Keith says. “You’re in no shape to do your skincare routine.”

                Part of him thinks maybe he should help Lance, help do it for him, but then Lance nods and leans his head on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith knows he’s going to conk out the moment he hits the mattress. He resigns himself to the fact that help have to deal with a grumpy Lance in the morning tomorrow, irritated over a nonexistent breakout because of one missed night of his skincare routine, because that’s just how it goes.

                Somehow, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reason 2 for this being short is bc i literally have a [college au](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15959756/chapters/37222451) going so like,,, there's that
> 
> like this definitely could've been a bgluacic chapter from back in early december
> 
> anyway
> 
> stan squad up, stan dsn, stan soopits, yada yada
> 
> bye


	16. i'm rolling to seduce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: thunderpike  
> alternate universe: modern au, college, NOT THE SQUAD UP UNIVERSE  
> characters: keith, lance, hunk, pidge, romelle, allura, matt, their dnd alter egos  
> relationships: keith/lance, pike/thunderstorm
> 
> in which the group plays dnd, and someone new joins their campaign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't super duper relevant and it's also explained in the first paragraph but here's a list view if it's more helpful  
> keith >>> thunderstorm darkness, half-elf, ranger  
> lance >>> pike, half-tabaxi, rogue  
> hunk >>> block, human, mage  
> pidge >>> meklavar, dwarf, barbarian  
> romelle >>> segrinara, tiefling, fighter  
> allura >>> valayun, elf, sorcerer  
> matt >>> the dm, human, nerd

                “Alright, so.”

                Late afternoon sun bathes a classroom on the fourth floor of Arus University’s languages building in shades of gold as Matt leans forward over his laptop, over his desk, and peers at the other members of his Dungeons & Dragons group, gathered in a large circle of rolling desks: Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Romelle. A sizable party, a decent setup, with Lance as their half-tabaxi rogue, Allura as their elven sorceress, Pidge as their dwarven barbarian, Hunk as their human mage, and Romelle as their tiefling fighter.

                “So…?” Hunk rotates his hand in a circle, and Matt’s mouth quirks up.

                “When we last left off, your party was approaching a tavern in search of a mysterious contact that would get them the information they need to find the Sword of Amidala—”

                “Which isn’t a thing,” Lance interrupts almost immediately, and earns a flat, indignant look from Matt and snickering from Pidge.

                “Is so. Anyway. Today, we’re picking up right where we left off. You’re approaching the tavern.”

                _The tavern isn’t anything spectacular. It’s in a rather dingy corner of town, a little sketchy—as to be expected. Ever the one for attention, Pike leads the group inside—_

                “I’m rolling for perception,” Pidge announces, and Matt pauses in his narration, while Lance glares, with the reins ripped right out of his hands.

                “There’s...not much to perceive…?” Matt asks more than tells, while Romelle groans.

                “Pidge, we _just_ —”

                “Nat 20.”

                Another series of groans from everyone else in the room, while Matt carefully looks down at his notes and bites on his lower lip, then sighs in defeat.

                _As the group enters, Meklavar, eyes keen despite their stature and the helmet falling in their face, manages to make out a cluster of people in a dark corner of the tavern, sitting at a small, round table. They each have the same symbol stitched onto the back of a black cloak they all wear, a purple symbol in a shape similar to that of a dagger._

_It’s the same symbol that matches the drawing the old woman on the farm gave you._

_“So, our contact’s one of them, huh?” Pike asks, and leans an elbow on top of Meklavar’s head._

_Valayun starts forward with Segrinara at her side, the elf and the tiefling eager to get things over with when one of the group members catches sight of them and rises from their chair. You notice that they’re smaller than many of the others, with dark, shaggy hair pulled back into a ponytail and mystifying purple eyes—_

                The door to the classroom swings open while Matt is mid-narration, and in strolls Keith, phone up to his ear like he’s been listening this whole time.

                “Mullet?” Lance asks in surprise. “You’re in the game now?”

                Keith smiles at him and shrugs, as he pulls up a rolling desk and squeezes in-between Lance and Allura, sets his laptop down and drops his bag on the ground behind him.

                “You keep talking about how fun this is, and I caved. I asked Matt to find a way to write me into the story, so he did.” Keith nods to Matt with a grateful look, while Matt winks and shoots him with finger-guns.

                “Hey, hey, that’s _my thing_ , and _my boyfriend_ , back off,” Lance says half-jokingly. “And speaking of boyfriend, I’m guessing this character’s Keith’s. I’m rolling to seduce.”

                “We just met him in the game,” Hunk points out as Lance picks up his d20.

                “Rolling!”

                “What would a seduction roll even be?” Allura mutters, eyes scanning over her character stats, and Matt shrugs.

                “Probably persuasion in this case.”

                Lance makes a noise of satisfaction and leans back in his seat. “That’s gonna be a mod twenty-three.”

                Hunk drags a hand down his face while Pidge slaps the desk, leaning forward in sudden interest.

                “Keith, you just joined us, but I’m gonna need you to make a charisma-saving throw,” Matt says, and his voice is strained, like he’s holding back laughter. Keith sighs and dumps out his small dice bag, and then picks up and tosses the d20. Lance leans over, a smile stretching over his face as he watches the die roll to a stop.

                Then he loses it.

                Keith buries his face in his hands while Lance falls back in his seat and howls. Allura peers over from Keith’s other side and shakes her head.

                “What did he roll?” Hunk asks.

                “ _A fucking one!_ ” Lance wheezes in answer, and Keith replies at the same time in a muffled, much more defeated voice: “A fucking _one_.”

                “Excellent first roll,” Matt says sarcastically, and then frowns as he looks back down at his notes, and wonders how to go about this. Then he mutters, “Well, it’s a good thing both of you have _fucking vague_ backstories, because congratulations! You’ve actually been fucking married this whole time. Pike left for the mission and never knew about Thunderstorm Darkness’ affiliations with this group.”

                “Do my husband and I not talk?” Lance asks. “What kind of relationship—”

                “You rolled to seduce and he failed his saving throw so spectacularly, what else was I supposed to do?!” Matt shouts, throwing his hands up.

                “Not make us dumbasses?” Lance fires back.

                “Gonna be hard to do,” Pidge remarks under her breath, smirking in Lance’s direction.

                “Fine!” Matt says. “Pike and Thunderstorm are married but are both suffering the effects of a hypnosis spell, but one look shatters the spell and the power of true love brings you back together almost immediately, _are you happy now?_ ”

                Lance leans forward and folds his hands. “Much so.”

                Matt opens his mouth to get back to narrating when Allura raises a finger; Matt deflates, and gestures for her to speak. She immediately whirls on Keith.

                “What kind of name is _Thunderstorm Darkness?_ ” She pauses, and then looks at Lance. “And I can’t believe _you_ didn’t call him out on it!”

                “Keith made him soft,” Romelle says. “It’s sweet.”

                “No, no, I’m not soft on him,” Lance interrupts. “I’m just used to it by now and have zero energy to call him on his shit.”

                Allura rolls her eyes and sinks back, and Keith leans over to her. “He’s lying, he’s soft on me.”

                Allura nods, like she’s known this the whole time, while Matt stares in exasperation.

                “Can we get back to the story now?!”

_Pike marches ahead of the party and stops in front of the group with the cloaks. Many of them eye him, and Meklavar notices a few people preparing to pull weapons._

“I’m rolling for history,” Romelle interrupts then.

                Matt stifles a scream and covers up his face with his hands, but Romelle pays him no mind as she tosses her die and watches it land. Then she squints at the number, squints at her stats page, squints at the ceiling as she adds the numbers, and says, “That’ll be a seventeen.”

                _Segrinara tugs on Meklavar and Pike and brings them to a halt, along with the rest of the group. She nods toward the group in the cloaks, and the mysterious member watching them, although Pike’s chest tightens at the sight of him, like he might know him from somewhere. It’s just at the back of his mind, but then Segrinara grabs his attention._

_“Those are the Blades of Marmora,” she explains quietly. “They’re a rebel group and work with very few people, if anyone at all. The fact that one of them is willing to speak to us is monumental, and if Zarkon or any of his cronies get wind, we’d have an even bigger target on our backs.”_

_The others are quiet for a moment, unsure what to make of her words, when Pike clears his throat. His eyes aren’t on Segrinara, nor any of the rest of the group. He’s met gazes with the mysterious Blade, and then it’s like something clicks into place._

_“We can trust them,” he says, and vulnerability is palpable in his voice for just a moment before he narrows his eyes, straightens his back, and puts his swaggering persona back on. “Let me talk to that one.”_

_“Pike, I’m not so sure—” Block begins, but Pike’s already moving, pushing away from the group. As he’s walking, he fails to notice a creature slinking in the shadows around the feet of the people sitting around the table. Just as he approaches the Blade, there’s a growl, and suddenly a giant blue wolf is standing between Pike and the rest of the Blades—_

                “I swear to God, if you say _roll for initiative,_ I’m walking out of here,” Hunk interrupts. “Do _not_ make us get into a _bar fight_ when we just got here!”

                Matt holds his hands up. “I’m not! I’m just letting the story play out.”

                _The wolf’s lips pull back in a snarl, but then a voice commands it to stand down and let Pike aside. Despite its reluctance, the dog obeys, and sinks down next to the Blade. Up close, Pike recognizes all of his features. However, he’s unsure if the Blade remembers him, and instead pops his hip._

_“The name’s Pike,” Pike says, “and I think I’ve met you before.” He means it flirtatiously, and leaves his statement as though there’s some second part of it left unsaid, but then the Blade replies before he can finish._

_“I know I’ve met you before,” the Blade says, and steps directly into Pike’s space. “Pike, don’t you remember me?”_

Lance has to stop entirely to just _stare_ at Keith, because that’s about the fondest he’s ever heard Keith’s voice directly in front of their friends— _all of them_ —in a long, _long_ time. He’s barely aware of the silence and of the fact that he should be picking up on the game when Pidge groans.

                “Great, he broke Lance.”

                “I will kill off Pike in our next session if you don’t get it together in the next five seconds,” Matt calls, and that seems to snap Lance out of it, out of his staring while the corner of Keith’s mouth twitches up and brings out the tiniest dimple.

                _“Stormy,” Pike says, and then one of the Blades at the table snickers._

_Quick as a wink, Thunderstorm draws his dagger and flings it, and it sticks into the wood of the table barely a hair’s breadth from his comrade’s fingers. His friend rears back in his seat and stares, but Thunderstorm’s attention is already off of him and back on Pike._

_“What happened to you?” Thunderstorm asks, and reaches up to touch the marks on Pike’s cheeks._

“I’m gonna be a cockblock,” Allura says, while Lance and Keith both whip around. “Let me get in there.”

_Valayun suddenly strides forward and pulls Pike back, away from Thunderstorm, the way a friend does. “And who are you, exactly? And what have you just done to Pike?”_

_“Val,” Pike says, and tries to pry her steel grip off of his arm, “It’s alright, I...I know him. He hasn’t done anything to me.”_

                “Rolling for insight.”

                “I’m telling the truth?”

                “Twenty-one.”

                “I’m still telling the truth!”

                Allura crosses her arms and grumbles. “Fine.”

                _“Everyone,” Pike says, and turns to the group of his friends, a group that’s slowly inched closer until they’re standing in a semicircle directly behind the table of Blades, “this is Thunderstorm Darkness. He’s...he’s my husband. And he can help us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brain: so like  
> brain: u wrote established klance  
> me: yes  
> brain: YOU COULDN'T NOT WRITE ESTABLISHED THUNDERPIKE???  
> me: established thunderpike is a GIFT fuck you
> 
> anyway
> 
> they're together in all universes what can i say


	17. so who do we think was the source

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: celebrity  
> alternate universe: modern au  
> characters: keith, lance, various twitter users  
> relationships: keith/lance, adam/shiro, allura/romelle
> 
> in which keith and lance are cast as the leads in a new movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a ton of shameless self-advertisement in here
> 
> do i care? no

**KEITH KOGANE & LANCE MCCLAIN CAST AS LEADS IN NEW “BUDDY COP SPACE OPERA”  
** _Heartthrobs to star in Scrivener Studios’ WHERE PEOPLE GO TO DIE, the first in a planned trilogy of films revolving around a band of humans with a mission to save the universe._

 _by Astra S. Crivens_  
_February 17th, 2019_  
_Last edits made 2 hours ago._

                Well, it seems the universe is doing us all a favor of cosmic proportions.  
                Scrivener Studios announced this morning on its [Twitter page](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener) that Keith Kogane (of [_Squad Up_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199533/chapters/27702090) fame) has yet again been cast alongside frequent co-star Lance McClain as the lead in its newest film _Where People Go to Die,_ initially pitched as a “buddy comedy meets space opera sort of deal.” The film follows two members of a team with a mission to save the universe, as they fool their way behind enemy lines in order to steal vital information.  
                The film promises to be a summer blockbuster with a slated release of 2021 and a win for the LGBT community, as the main romance revolves around Kogane and McClain’s characters. Rumors are also sprouting up about the two co-stars. An anonymous source describing themselves as “close” to Kogane let it slip that Kogane may have only agreed to take the part if McClain was cast as his love interest, but whether or not these rumors are true is completely up in the air.  
                One thing’s for sure: we here at [McKogane Central](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener) are excited to see their chemistry on the big screen once again, and this time in space, rather than a high school classroom—although a romance between them is perfect in _any_ setting. •

 

 **Keith Kogane** @kkogane • 1h  
Very excited for this. [#WPGTDMovie  
](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)_445 replies • 6k retweets • 10.1k likes_

 **Lance McClain** @lanceylance • 1h  
The news is out!! STOKED to be in this film!! [#WPGTDMovie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539) @kkogane @pidgeottosguns @hunkgarrett @alluraaltea @shiroGAYmer @lotoreal  
_563 replies • 6.1k retweets • 10k likes_

[ **Cecile** @cecilebakura](https://twitter.com/cecilebakura) • 1h  
ohhh my god it’s happening [#WPGTDMovie  
](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)_4 replies • 8 retweets • 23 likes_

 **Smelly Romelley** @romelons • 1h  
so proud of my gf congrats on ur casting bby @alluraaltea [#WPGTDMovie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)  
_24 replies • 220 retweets • 1k likes  
_                **Allura Altea** @alluraaltea • 57m  
                _replying to @romelons_  
                <3333 thank u bby!!  
                _709 replies • 1.2k retweets • 5.7k likes_

[ **srah** @sasshole14](https://twitter.com/sasshole14) • 1h  
i’m so excited for this i’m so glad keith and lance get to work together again!! [#WPGTDMovie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)  
_2 replies • 5 retweets • 19 likes_

[ **absolute moron** @skinkshame](https://twitter.com/skinkshame) • 59m  
oh fuck yes this is gonna be SO GOOD [#WPGTDMovie  
](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)_12 replies • 56 retweets • 243 likes_

[ **caitie** @sunnyjolras](https://twitter.com/sunnyjolras) • 58m  
keith and lance as romantic leads AGAIN?? and keith wouldn’t take the role UNLESS lance was cast with him??? HMMMMMM [#WPGTDMovie  
](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)_28 replies • 455 retweets • 671 likes_

 

                “The internet’s onto you, babe.”

                An arm drapes around Keith’s shoulder as the couch dips next to him, Lance climbing over from the back and landing right up in Keith’s space. He presses in close and shows Keith his phone screen, and the series of tweets that’ve come in since the news of their new movie broke this morning. Keith leans into him and takes his phone, and swipes through his timeline, smirk growing wider with each passing tweet.

 

[ **Ina** @moonpinez](https://twitter.com/moonpinez) • 58m  
keith and lance have such good chemistry together, they’re going to be great [#WPGTDMovie  
](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)_3 replies • 56 retweets • 133 likes_

[ **abby** @starssshine](https://twitter.com/starssshine) • 58m  
“kogane may have only agreed to take the part if mcclain was cast as his love interest” i’m crying [#WPGTDMovie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)  
_4 replies • 47 retweets • 190 likes  
                _[**eli** @echoinspxce](https://twitter.com/echoinspxce) • 57m  
                _replying to[@starssshine](https://twitter.com/starssshine)_ _  
_                 i wanna know who the source was  
                _2 replies • 12 retweets • 46 likes_

 **Takashi Shirogane** @shiroGAYmer • 56m  
congrats @kkogane on being the lead i’m still gonna outshine you [#WPGTDMovie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)  
_3k replies • 12k retweets • 15.7k likes  
_                **Keith Kogane** @kkogane • 56m  
                _replying to @shiroGAYmer  
_                fuck off shiro  
                _2.4k replies • 3k retweets • 7.8k likes  
_                **Adam Wright** @aDAMN • 56m  
_replying to @shiroGAYmer  
                _you always outshine everyone :) <3  
                _1.2k replies • 2.1k retweets • 3.1k likes_

[ **sher** @waywardbaz](https://twitter.com/waywardbaz) • 55m  
so who do we think was the source on keith [#WPGTDMovie  
](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539)_47 replies • 677 retweets • 998 likes  
_                [**brooklyn** @mertrapta](https://twitter.com/mertrapta) • 54m  
                _replying to_[ _@waywardbaz_  
](https://twitter.com/waywardbaz)                keith but he paid them to keep quiet  
                _12 replies • 201 retweets • 274 likes  
                _[**Shei** @Sassheii](https://twitter.com/Sassheii) • 52m  
                _replying to_[ _@waywardbaz_ _  
_](https://twitter.com/waywardbaz)                lance i’m willing to put money on this  
                _14 replies • 155 retweets • 210 likes  
_                [**Percy** @pessimysticbabe](https://twitter.com/pessimysticbabe) • 49m  
                _replying to[@waywardbaz](https://twitter.com/waywardbaz)_  
                pidge maybe?  
                _3 replies • 121 retweets • 179 likes  
_                [**It’s meee, Keeiiith, I AM YOUR PALAAADIIIN** @KeithyyBoi](https://twitter.com/KeithyyBoi) • 45m  
                _replying to[@waywardbaz](https://twitter.com/waywardbaz)_  
                okay but what if it was shiro  
                _34 replies • 344 retweets • 532 likes_

 

                “How long are you gonna wait before you tell them that you told Allura to do it?” Lance asks, as Keith hands his phone back over, silently shaking with laughter.

                “Oh, I’m never telling them,” Keith responds, and rests his head on Lance’s shoulder, kicks his feet up on the coffee table in front of them, closes his eyes with a content sigh. “I think it’s fun watching them scramble to figure it out. And that Shiro accusation was spot-on, honestly.”

                Lance laughs lightly at that, but his laughter settles, and then his head comes down on top of Keith’s.

                “When are _we_ gonna tell them? About us?” His fingers intertwine with Keith’s. “I know, you want to keep this out of the spotlight, but it’s been a couple years now, y’know? We’ve already lasted longer than most of Hollywood.”

                That draws a giggle out of Keith. He hums, and drums his fingers against the back of Lance’s hand.

                “I think...I think we should fuck around with people a little more first,” Keith says, and Lance lifts his head, turns to fully look at Keith; Keith mimics his motions, until the two of them are staring at each other. Lance furrows his brow, while the ends of Keith’s mouth tug up. “Like, we start off subtle, and then gradually get more and more open about it, but we never actually _say_ anything.”

                “...I’m not following.”

                “Like,” Keith says, and then takes out his phone and opens up Snapchat, and takes a picture of both sets of feet on the coffee table, and then uploads it to his story with a caption that merely reads _getting into character._ “Like that. We keep dropping hints and then act like absolutely nothing is going on, until one day we’re just posting openly about it, no big deal.”

                Lance stares at Keith for a moment. Keith, with his pineapple hair and sweatpants and fuzzy socks, drowning in one of Lance’s oversized sweatshirts, smiling like he’s finally cracked the Da Vinci code. Then Lance surges forward, grabs Keith’s face, and kisses him.

                Keith laughs into it and wraps his arms around Lance’s back, and then pulls him down as he shifts sideways on the couch, and his head falls onto a pillow, while Lance readjusts until he’s straddling Keith.

                “You’re a little shit,” Lance breathes out when he draws back, and presses his forehead against Keith’s, “but you’re my little shit, and I love you for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of those twitter links are real links, go check those fine people out and maybe give 'em a follow
> 
> also definitely check out every single link
> 
> all of them
> 
> every single one
> 
> ~~hashtagstanDSN~~


	18. tell him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: childhood friends  
> alternate universe: modern  
> characters: keith, lance  
> relationships: keith/lance  
> other tags: mutual oblivious pining, lance pov, part of a bigger fic
> 
> in which lance and keith go to junior prom together...platonically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so i'm trying to cut down my entries for kl month because exams are coming up at the end of the month, plus i'm gonna have a paper and a project due, and ALSO i haven't worked on soopits in forever, so like,,, yeah
> 
> this is actually a scene from a 21-22k fic i wrote for my friend nicole last month, so like, if you don't wanna be spoiled or you want a refresher or you haven't read it and want a longer childhood friends fic, go read [two kids, you and me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437661)
> 
> anyway
> 
> have fun

                It strikes Lance at possibly one of the worst times in his life—no. It does not _strike._ It’s like a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting but in the most unsettling way, and it happens in the middle of a dancefloor while Keith sways in time to the music in Lance’s arms. He’s not paying attention, really, and good thing, because not even his strongest makeup can cover his blush as he looks at Keith, looks at the way the strobe lights catch his hair, the slight curl to his lashes…

                _It’s Keith._

                _You like Keith._

                The voice in his head, sudden and uninvited, manages to explain away the funny feelings that’ve been plaguing him for years now; the reason he’s so damn _comfortable_ around Keith, has no issues sliding arms around him and pulling him in, has no issues being this _close_ to him, doesn’t care what anyone else has to say, doesn’t care about anyone’s opinion _but Keith’s_.

                _You’ve liked Keith._

                It’s easy—always easy to go to Keith, to talk to him, to open up without fear of judgment. It’s the reason he’s often another mouth at Keith’s dinner table, if Keith’s not at his—another reason he has no issue sharing a bed with him, even if it means Keith’s face is in the crook of his neck with breath ghosting across his skin…

                _Tell him._

                The urge bubbles up inside of Lance’s chest as he holds Keith a little tighter, _barely_ squeezes around his waist, and Keith’s face breaks out into a tentative smile. Then, carefully, Keith’s arms slide around Lance’s neck, and something inside of Lance combusts, and for a moment he fears he might combust with it. It gets even worse when Keith presses their foreheads together.

                _I want to kiss you so badly._

                It would be like every cliché movie Lance has ever seen, but it feels _right,_ it would be so _easy_ and so _natural_ for him to just lean in, for his lips to brush against Keith’s...and maybe Keith would kiss him back, pull him in deeper…

                “This is nice,” Keith whispers.

                He may as well have punched Lance in the chest with how his heart trips, and Lance almost leans in. Almost confesses. Every urge Lance has nearly boils over and spills out of his mouth when he’s struck with the sudden realization that Keith doesn’t know the most crucial part.

                He. Doesn’t. Know.

 _Moron, absolute fucking moron,_ Lance mentally chides himself—something he’s used to by now—and tries to swallow down his disappointment, swallows down all his words that he was aching to say moments ago, because how will Keith take that? How will Keith take a guy he thinks is straight telling him that he’s always liked him and is just _now_ understanding what’s been there for years?

                Lance can imagine him recoiling in terror, blowing up, telling Lance he’s a liar, telling Lance that _I trusted you, I trusted you of all people not to play with my heart like this._

                So Lance just responds, “Yeah,” and hopes Keith doesn’t hear how hollow his voice is, doesn’t hear the longing, because even if Lance confesses right here and tells him he’s bi, what if Keith doesn’t even feel the same. Lance can’t put him on the spot at _prom._

                _I’ll tell you eventually,_ Lance thinks, and continues stepping in a slow circle, as Keith closes his eyes and Lance keeps watching him, face aflame. Not soon, but not never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote this last night and meant to post it this morning but i took a nap
> 
> anyway
> 
> later


	19. crash?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: canon divergence  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent post-s1  
> characters: keith, lance  
> relationships: keith/lance  
> other tags: mutual oblivious pining (but it's not that obvious), the post-s1 era i wasn't around for, protective keith, hurt lance
> 
> in which the wormhole malfunction strands lance and keith on a planet together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, the post-s1 era, that simple and sweet time that i wasn't around for
> 
> yeah i came here post-s2 but shortly after the s3 april fool's teaser w kaltenecker's face over lotor's
> 
> may 2017 baby
> 
> simpler times...so much simpler...[a single tear tracks down my face] we had hope, then
> 
> ANYWAY

                “Lance? Can you hear me?”

                Lance must be dead.

                That’s the only explanation he can think of for the echoing, tinny voice in his ear, and the blurry face in front of his when he squintily opens his eyes. Stranger yet is the fact that the face above his is concerned for him, and the voice wobbles slightly with worry, rushed with panic.

                “Keith…?”

                “Hey…”

                The voice above him goes soft but no less scared as Lance’s eyes open all the way, and he shifts upright, propping himself up on an elbow, body protesting his actions. Automatically, Keith scrambles to help him up to his feet, but Lance cries out as soon as he sets any sort of weight on his legs, and he stumbles, falls until Keith’s the only thing keeping him from completely smashing his face into rock.

                Just a tiny bit of the miles and miles of endless rock that seem to stretch around them.

                “What happened?” Lance grunts. He looks around them, and finds the Lions are nowhere to be found. “W-Where’s Blue?”

                “Take it easy,” Keith responds almost immediately, and he gently pushes Lance down by the shoulders. “You got separated from Blue in the crash. I came to find you.”

                “Crash?”

                Lance’s brow furrows. _Crash_ sounds right to him, judging by the pain in his legs and the throbbing in his head, and—

                _Oh._

                His brain finally catches up to things, and it all comes flooding back—the wormhole freaking out, the screaming, Blue getting sucked out of the hangar and then tumbling through the wormhole, _breaking free of it_...and he apparently hasn’t broken free alone, if Keith’s presence here is any indication.

                “Do you remember?” Keith asks.

                Lance nods, and then winces as something sharp lances through his skull. Then, suddenly, Keith is kneeling, nearly straddling him—because he’s got his injured legs laid out before him—and reaching for his helmet. Lance jerks back and lifts wide eyes, and Keith pauses, hands hovering near Lance’s head.

                “ _What_ are you doing?” Lance demands, and Keith tilts his head, narrows his eyes, regains that irritated edge to his voice.

                “Checking you for any more injuries that you might not be able to see, dumbass,” he answers. “Just take off your helmet and hold still.”

                Lance opens his mouth to protest, but Keith cuts him off: “Air’s breathable, I already checked. Now take the helmet off.”

                With a grumble, Lance complies, and sets his helmet in his lap while Keith squats over him, fingers probing the sides of his head, pushing his hair out of his face. His touch is a lot gentler than Lance expected, almost...pleasant.

                He can’t help the tiny flutter in his chest as Keith leans closer in sudden concentration, tongue poking out from between his lips as he tilts Lance’s head, eyes narrowing further. Lance finds himself just about holding his breath as his fingers poke at an ear on the side of his head, and then Keith grunts and pulls back, casting his gaze at Lance’s helmet.

                “Well, shit.”

                “What?” Lance asks, heartbeat ramping up.

                Keith levels eyes at him, steadies himself by placing his hands on Lance’s shoulders.

                “Do you have a headache?”

                “...Yeah, kinda?”

                “What about nausea? Dizziness?”

                “Maybe a little? Where—”

                Keith shuts his eyes and sighs, and then relinquishes his grip on Lance’s shoulders and stands up. “I think you have a concussion. On top of at least one broken leg.”

                Ah, so that would explain things.

                “H-How did…?” Lance can’t form the proper questions as he stares up at Keith, who peers down at him with crossed arms. “How come I’m all banged up and you’re fine?!”

                “Because,” Keith answers, slightly exasperated, and uncrosses his arms, “Blue’s cockpit was breached when we crashed. Red’s wasn’t. I didn’t see what happened, but from the looks of Blue...you must’ve gotten sucked out on the way down. You’re not doing so well, and neither is she. But I’ve gotta get you back to her—”

                “Oh no, you’re not taking me anywhere,” Lance says, throwing his hands out in front of him the moment Keith begins coming closer again. “I can handle—”

                “You’re fucking concussed and have a broken leg,” Keith deadpans. “We just established that you _literally_ can’t walk, number one. Number two, we’re separated from the rest of the team already! We shouldn’t…” Keith’s voice quiets, once he realizes he’s raised it, and Lance has flinched back. “We shouldn’t get separated any further. We’re a team, aren’t we?”

                Keith holds a plea in his gaze as he extends a hand to Lance—an olive branch, an offer of truce, because really, they’re already fucked. They’re stranded, Lance has a broken leg and Lion, and a concussed head, which means Keith’s basically taking care of the both of them.

                They really don’t have much else to lose.

                “Fine,” Lance says, and takes Keith’s hand. Keith gently yanks him up, and then scoops him into his arms, bridal-style.

                “Again with the cradling?” Lance mutters under his breath as he allows his head to fall against Keith’s shoulder, while Keith starts walking, only to draw to a halt almost immediately.

                “You _remember?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya kids keep in mind these are gonna be shorter bc!!! i got stuff to do i'm a dyin college student!!!!!
> 
> (but also, if you want a LONGER canon divergence fic...[DECEIT SO NATURAL](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406) diverges from canon somewhere post-s2...c'mon guys you know you want to...wink-wonk)
> 
> also this is just a head's up...if you haven't seen [THE GUY WHO DIDN'T LIKE MUSICALS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrxKX44qBJ0)...you might wanna familiarize urself with it for thursday's prompt... ;)
> 
> see u tomorrow for leakira day!!


	20. this one of yours?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: leakira  
> alternate universe: ...l-leakira? cyberpunk?  
> characters: akira (keith), leandro (lance), chad (james griffin), three unnamed cronies (mfes)  
> relationships: leakira  
>  **trigger warnings for violence**
> 
> in which leandro gets cornered after a heist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: hmmm i need a villain  
> brain: james and the mfes  
> me: excellent  
> me: oh but this is the leakira universe  
> brain: change their names  
> me: fantastic  
> me: ...what's the whitest white boy name u got for gross-ass griffin  
> brain:  
> me:  
> brain: CHAD  
> me: CHAD

                The neon lights of the city bathe Leandro’s savior in shades of pink and lime green, as the engine of a motorbike cuts out, and the four goons surrounding Leandro all pause and turn at the sound of a dagger being drawn from a sheath. A grin splits Leandro’s face as one hand dips into his jacket pocket unnoticed, and his fingers lock around the handle of his laser gun.

                “Hey babe,” Leandro calls with a dreamy sigh, and raises his other hand in greeting, like he’s not currently being held at gunpoint. His other hand then lowers, dips behind his back, grabs the gun he keeps strapped _there,_ until he’s dual-wielding.

                “Babe?” one of the goons whispers, while the one holding Leandro’s shirt suddenly drops him, and only lowers the gun slightly—between Leandro’s eyes now, instead of directly in the center of his forehead—as he appraises the figure stalking toward them, and drawing a second weapon.

                “Kira!” this one, their leader, says. “This one here…” A thick swallow. “This one of yours?”

                “The _only one_ , Chad.” The further Akira steps into the alley, the more silhouetted he becomes, the more severe his expression as the light slanting in from the city disappears, bright to ghostly pale. “He’s pretty damn important to me, too, so if you and your cronies could step off, that’d be great.” He twirls one dagger, tosses it in the air and lets the blade and the purple mark on the hilt catch the light before it falls back into his palm. “And I’d _really_ appreciate if you’d stop calling me Kira. Only one person gets that honor, and you’re holding him at gunpoint.”

                Chad smiles. “Sorry Ki, but—”

                “You can’t call me that, either.”

                Chad’s smile wavers, for just a moment, before vanishing from his face entirely. He keeps eyes on Akira but presses the barrel of his gun directly against Leandro’s head, at the very top of the bridge of his nose.

                “ _Akira_ ,” he amends without an ounce of remorse. “See, he’s crossed us. I think you know how we take being crossed around here, don’t you?”

                Akira doesn’t flick eyes to Leandro. He stays firmly fixed on Chad, and spares glances for the three of his cronies. “Weird, how you’re just targeting him, but not me, even though I was one half of that heist.”

                Akira sheaths one blade and takes something off of his belt. It’s a simple brown bag, small enough for him to cradle in his palm without dropping it. Inside, glass clinks around—vials of medicine, astronomically priced when bought, free if you know your way around laser grids, other security systems.

                “And _weirder_ , seeing as he doesn’t even have the goods on him.”

                Two of Chad’s cronies swing their weapons in Akira’s direction, and Leandro acts; in one fluid motion, he’s got one gun pressed up against Chad’s forehead and another against his chest. Chad gasps as he returns his attention to Leandro, while Akira shoves the bag back into a loop on his belt and palms his second dagger again.

                “I’d advise none of you to try shit,” Akira says. “Let Leo go, and we’ll be on our merry way. All six of us, alive.”

                Leandro and Akira meet eyes over Chad’s shoulder; there’s a near-imperceptible nod from Akira, and Leandro shifts the gun pointed at Chad’s chest up, barrel pointing to the sky, and fires, a laser blast sizzling through the air and scorching Chad’s shirt as he jumps back with a shriek, and completely forgets to try and shoot. Leandro drops and darts out of the way—sweeps a leg under Chad and the crony closest to him.

                One of the other two doesn’t even try to fight, but the last crony lunges at Akira.

                She doesn’t last very long. Two swipes with his dagger leaves her disarmed and stumbling back. With final twirls, Akira sheaths both daggers and then grabs Leandro’s wrist as he stows his guns back into their holsters.

                “This is what you get for not sticking with our plan,” Akira remarks through grit teeth as he drags Leandro to his bike and climbs on, and yanks Leandro on behind him. “If you’d stuck to the plan—”

                “We would’ve both been arrested. Look at this, we’re both out alive!” Leandro interrupts, and wraps his arms around Akira’s waist while the engine revs to life.

                “Not yet,” Akira mutters, and spares the second to turn his head and press a kiss to Leandro’s cheek. “Ready?”

                “Born.”

                The bike takes off, and Leandro’s arms tighten around Akira’s waist as he settles his face into the crook of Akira’s neck. If this were one of their more perilous escapes, Leandro would be sitting backwards in Akira’s lap, arms thrown over his shoulders, firing at followers, but Chad and the rest of his cronies don’t bother firing; they stand with slumped shoulders as Leandro and Akira take off into the night.

                “Thanks for coming to my rescue, _Kira_ ,” Leandro sighs.

                Akira huffs out a laugh. “I thought I’d be disgusted after that little incident, but you’re still cute when you say it, so, I guess it’s not ruined after all.”

                Leandro returns Akira’s kiss when they slow down, and pull into a more suburban area, neon lights of the city fading away until they’re practically gone. And to his credit, Akira doesn’t flinch or accidentally swerve the bike like he did several years back, when these misadventures first began. He keeps them steady all the way up to the garage behind the cramped house he and Leandro rent out.

                As soon as they’re off the bike, Akira pins Leandro against the side of the garage, wrists at either side of his head, and brings his lips to Leandro’s ear.

                “If only Chad had known,” he whispers, “ _I’m_ the only one who’s allowed to have you like this.”

                He draws back, slightly, to watch Leandro’s lips quirk into a smile, and then presses his own mouth against the upward curve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> professor hidgens voice: AND CHAD
> 
> anyway just had to get that out of my system
> 
> SPEAKING of the guy who didn't like musicals...if u haven't watched yet...better prep urself for tomorrow ;)
> 
> SEE U THEN!!!


	21. a kick line is inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: crossover  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent/the guy who didn't like musicals crossover  
> characters: keith, lance, general mcnamara, unnamed civilians  
> relationships: keith/lance  
> additional tags: established kl, rp keith, bp lance (tho those two tags are irrelevant), mild dark!lance  
>  **trigger warning for violence, mild gore**
> 
> in which keith and lance go to an alternate universe earth and try to save it from a musical apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for everyone i've ever yelled at about the musical
> 
> if you haven't watched it yet
> 
> you've reached the point of no return
> 
> ...cue starset
> 
> anyway enjoy!!!

                Lance has encountered numbers of strange universes, upside-down worlds, alternate realities that’ve boggled his mind to the point of nightmares, but...this? Voltron got called out here for _this?_

                “A meteor...that makes people... _sing?_ ” Keith repeats incredulously.

                “Yes, and we’ve been informed you two are here to get rid of it with technology more capable than ours will ever be,” the blond general they have the unfortunate luck of speaking to says.

                Lance supposes the shock of hearing they’re from an alternate universe with the capabilities to save this one from succumbing to some...weird musical theatre hivemind, he supposes, is the best way to put it—is practically nonexistent, when Earth is already being attacked by...singing parasites, or whatever.

                “ _What_ did Allura get us _into?_ ” Keith mutters under his breath, and then sighs. “And where are we going to get rid of it?”

                “The old Starlight Theater in downtown Hatchetfield,” the general answers, and walks the short distance to the only table in the room, a long meeting table with a map spread over it. Keith and Lance follow suit, as the general takes out a pointer and uses the tip of it to draw an invisible circle around a location already marked out in red.

                Keith stands with his arms crossed, while Lance puts one hand on his hip and drapes his other arm around Keith’s shoulder. Keith leans into him, however small the gesture is. It relaxes him, and certainly relaxes Lance, who’d press a kiss to Keith’s temple if they didn’t have their helmets on.

                “This is where you need to get to,” the general says, and then draws a vague line that’s really not very helpful at all, but it’s alright, because the Starlight Theater address is already logged into their suits, and they have maps of the city at their fingertips. “And this is how you’ll get there. Don’t breathe in the spores, and you’re good to go. Questions?”

                The general whirls on them and pokes Keith in the helmet with his pointer, and leaves a thin white scratch trailing across his visor.

                “No,” Keith answers, a little more harshly than necessary as he shoves the pointer away. “We’ll be back soon.”

                He shrugs Lance’s shoulder off and starts out of the room, and Lance flashes a falsely apologetic smile in the general’s direction before taking off after Keith.

 

* * *

 

                “Oh, this is creepy as fuck.”

                The Starlight Theater is even worse than Lance imagined it.

                There’s meteor damage all over the structure, burns and holes and crumbling walls and shattered windows. This entire area of downtown remains deserted, as Keith and Lance stalk up to what must have once been the front entrance.

                “You got thermals on?” Keith asks without glancing back.

                “Yeah,” Lance answers, and squints. “Looks like there’s something hot at the center in there, and it’s pulsing.”

                “Gotta be the meteor,” Keith says. He finally turns to face Lance. “We’ve gotta be careful in there. I don’t know if it releases those spores when we break it or what, but we work quickly, and then we go. I don’t wanna have to…”

                He can’t finish.

                Because as ridiculous as the whole situation is, Lance remembers the levity vanishing from the bridge when the team was debriefed, and Allura explained to them how to take care of anyone they may come across infected by the spores.

                “It’s not gonna come to that,” Lance hopes more than really, matter-of-factly declares, and he twines one hand with Keith’s, presses their helmets together and looks him in the eyes as clearly as their visors will allow. “We’ve got this. We’re a good team, after all, aren’t we?”

                Keith smiles, though the worry lines still crease his forehead, take up residence under his eyes. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

                “Yes, we are,” Lance says, and releases Keith. “No guessing. We’re gonna get in there, get this done, and then get back to the castle, no problem. Once we’re back, I see some pineapples and facemasks in our futures.”

                A nice relaxing night for them, once they wrap here.

                The promise of being in Lance’s arms later has Keith nodding, squaring his shoulders, and then cautiously leading the two of them through the door. Years ago, he might’ve run right in, broken through without much thought of the consequences, but not now. Not anymore.

                Lance stays firmly at his back as they enter the theater, and as they do, Lance _hears_ the warping sounds, as the lights above their heads pulse in time. He interfaces with his visor and turns his thermals on every few seconds, and lets his eyes sweep the area around them. The general warned them that there could be lurkers at the Starlight, waiting to ensnare more victims, ensure they fall to their weird musical cult.

                “Coast is clear,” Lance murmurs, and then he and Keith enter the main theater.

                The meteor rests in a crater of splintering boards in the center of the stage. The stage still smolders, and most of the surrounding area, including a large portion of the seats closest to the front, are charred black.

                “Air breathability in here just went critical,” Keith says, watching as a red warning sign flashes in the corner of his visor, a warning that he _absolutely must not take his helmet off under any circumstances whatsoever._ “When they said this place was thick with the spores, it wasn’t kidding.”

                That’s another layer on their visor interfaces—a layer that’ll allow them to see physical, circular outlines of the spores. When Lance switches it on, his eyes are assaulted with various shades of blue; the closer to cyan, the stronger and more dangerous.

                “You didn’t make a dirty joke, now I’m concerned,” Keith says, when Lance doesn’t answer him, and it draws a huff out of Lance.

                “I don’t make dirty jokes _all_ the time, Koga— _oh, fuck_.”

                Lance’s voice drops to a whisper, and he swings his rifle in the direction of one of the wings of the broken stage, presses in against Keith’s back while Keith activates his bayard and glances over his shoulder.

                “Lance?”

                “Okay, so for whatever reason, people _aren’t registering on the thermals,_ but they’re definitely on the spore filter,” Lance says, voice low. “I’ve got at least two people in the right wing—”

                “A tragedy,” Keith interrupts before he can help himself, until Lance nudges him in the back of his ankle.

                “Pidge was right, I’ve been a terrible influence,” he says first, and then glances in the direction of the left wing. “There’s someone else stage left. I _don’t_ like this.”

                His rifle weighs heavily in his hand as he considers the prospect of being attacked. Logically, he knows—he’s been shown charts, seen body scans, trained as a soldier for a few years now, has already killed more than he cares to remember. But this seems...different. Because these people didn’t _ask_ to be mindless alien zombies.

                “Okay, okay, okay...okay, I think I’ve got a plan,” Lance says, after a few moments of himself and Keith standing in silence, shifting their weight from foot to foot, waiting to see if the lurkers would appear— which, they haven’t. “Keith, you’re gonna have to do the collection. I’ve got your six...and like, all the other numbers on the clock.”

                “Okay.”

                No questions, just a nod, and then Keith approaches the comet. Lance stays close to him, and is there when Keith stabs it and then jumps back, and momentarily releases his hold on his bayard. When nothing adverse happens—when the rock splinters and cracks and a chunk falls to the ground, and the spore readings stay roughly the same—Keith goes back to hacking at it.

                Lance, meanwhile, switches his bayard between the left and right wings of the stage. Even _on_ the stage, Lance still can’t see the bodies—can only see their blue shapes in the spore overlay. But they’re there, and they’re _humming,_ as far as Lance can tell.

                It’s a catchy tune, he has to admit, and finds himself humming along until Keith abruptly spins around, eyes wide.

                “Lance?!”

                The song dies in Lance’s throat as he takes in Keith’s sudden terror, a change from his concentration just seconds ago.

                “Whoa, whoa, hey,” Lance says, and makes the mistake of lowering his rifle, lowering his _guard_ , for one second. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to, just lost my focus for a sec.” He spreads his palms. “See? Still me.”

                He holds Keith’s gaze, as Keith’s expression softens, and some of the panic clears away,

                **“But you won’t be for much longer, won’t you, Lancey?”**

                Lance and Keith both whip around and stumble back into each other, Keith ripping his bayard away from the meteor, as three figures emerge—two from stage right, one from stage left, and then another drops from the ceiling center and down, and startles the _shit_ out of Keith and Lance. Lance pieces together then that all four of them have spoken in unison, and their movements perfectly match each others’ as they stride forward.

                _Shoot._

                It should be second nature by now, to take down hostiles, but it’s a different story when they’re all only as old as him, and when their free will has been ripped away from them. He should know better— _should squeeze the trigger_ —because really, they’re all already dead anyway, and it’s an alien and not an Earthling talking to him, but—

                _The mission._

                The mission isn’t the large chunk of space rock beside him.

                Lance shoots the first one right in the head, and grimaces, swallows down bile as blue ooze thicker than typical blood sprays across the stage. Behind him, Keith grunts, and then the heat of his back against Lance’s vanishes as he charges for another one of the aliens.

                **_“It’s a shame,”_** the alien Keith goes after hisses, and sweeps a leg underneath him, and he rolls with the impact, rolls on his back and kicks up as the alien moves to tackle him, and sends them across the room. **_“A shame, shame, shame, you two think this is a game—”_**

 ** _“Game, game, game,”_** the remaining two aliens echo, and Lance, eyes wide, swings his gun around and takes a shot at another.

                **_“And Lancey’s all to blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame!”_**

                Lance can’t swing his rifle in time before the alien going at Keith takes a swing he’s too late to dodge. Their fist smashes into his visor and shatters it, and sends Keith stumbling back as a few pieces of glass get inside of the frame of his helmet, scratch and cut his face. The high note must have had something to do with it—weaken the visor, maybe? Lance doesn’t know, doesn’t care, _sees red_ as he aims his gun, only to have arms lock around his throat and yank him down backwards.

                Lance screams, and throws an elbow as hands move to rip his helmet off his head. As soon as he gets loose enough, he aims the barrel of the gun behind himself and fires without a clear target, and breathes as much a sigh of relief as he can when the body behind him goes limp. Then he rockets to his feet and scans the room.

                One of the aliens has disappeared from sight, _again_ , and the other’s still going at a Keith trying to protect himself, bayardless.

                **_“Give in now, spare yourself the pain,”_** the alien sings to some melody Lance can’t hear, while a **_pain, pain, pain_** echoes somewhere from the rafters— _spore vision on, where the quiznak are you?_

                “No...no, no…”

                Keith shakes his head and keeps shuffling back blindly, until he trips and falls over broken floorboards, and the back of his helmet catches against the meteor. The alien moves in to pounce—

                Lance fires.

                There’s another spray of blue just as Keith uncovers his face and gasps, and then gags as it splatters over him, while the alien’s body falls back in the other direction.

                “Keith!”

                Lance rushes to his side and extends hands to help pull him up, and Keith groans as Lance does, and then falls forward into his arms.

                “Lance...Lance we need to go…”

                **_“Give in, give in, give in, give in...there’s no shot no chance no way for you to win…”_**

                The final alien. Lance looks up sharply and holds Keith closer, cradles the back of his head and tightens the arm he’s got around his back as he finally spots the aliens, jumping around from rafter to rafter in some weird dance, almost like a trapeze artist.

                “The war was never ours to end or ever begin…”

                Lance jerks back suddenly, shoves Keith away and holds him at an arm’s length, stares into his eyes and for what it’s worth, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

                That is, until, Lance realizes that the alien blood splattered all over his _face_ , and there’s definitely some around his mouth, and undoubtedly...some got _in_ his mouth.

                “Keith, no,” Lance whispers. “D-Don’t...Keith, please stop singing.”

                They came down here for a mission, as Defenders of the Universe. Came down to rescue a town and possibly the world from the cruel fate of becoming part of one giant musical. But there’s genuine fear in Keith’s suddenly-teary eyes, as more words tumble from his mouth, echoed somewhere by the alien in the rafters.

                “Your Red Paladin’s going, going, gonna be gone.” Keith’s voice is breathy and shaky and Lance’s heart splinters. “Soon it’ll just **be me, wearing his skin. His time’s running out, wearing thin…”**

                _You came here on a mission._

                Lance keeps repeating it, as something unfurls inside of him, because yes, he came down here for a mission, but it never exactly aligned with Keith’s.

                He’s never really been selfish—he’s had to live with second-best, runner-up, sacrifice after sacrifice, and finally someone’s shown him that he’s worth fighting for, worth first choice.

                The people of Hatchetfield are fucked, but Keith still has a chance.

                With that in mind, Lance deactivates his bayard. Grabs Keith’s and deactivates that one, too, and then looks at Keith. Looks at his exposed face, winces, and knocks him right in the forehead with the blunted end.

                He catches Keith as he goes limp, cradles him in his arms, and shoots one last glare at the alien cackling in the rafters, before he bolts for the door to the Starlight.

                He’s taken the fall for failure before, and in this case, he has no problem doing it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really wanna do more fics exploring a darker side of lance i think it would seem fun
> 
> hmmmmmmm
> 
> HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
> 
> anyway stan deceit so natural :D


	22. i just wanted lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: high school  
> alternate universe: modern au, high school, squad up universe (chapter 96)  
> characters: keith, lance, nyma, pidge  
> relationships: established keith/lance, referenced past lance/nyma
> 
> in which lance runs into his ex in the cafeteria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya so like i said this takes place in chapter 96 of squad up, definitely could've cross-posted to DOES ANY ACTUAL LEARNING GO ON IN THIS FACILITY, but i'm lazy, so there's that
> 
> i'm also too lazy to go get the chapter 96 link
> 
> okay bye

                There are very few things Lance has the emotional capacity to deal with at the moment, especially when the day was just beginning to look up moments ago. Now, though, he feels all of that crashing down as someone, behind him in the lunch line, taps his shoulder.

                “Hey.” It’s a chipper greeting for the present situation, far too chipper as Lance turns around and wills himself not to bolt right then and there.

                “Hey, Nyma.”

                Compared to her, Lance sounds absolutely dead inside, and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it as the line inches forward—one more person checked out, one person closer to Lance getting the fuck out of here.

                “So, Lance, _listen_ ,” she starts, and to her credit, keeps her voice mostly down, to eliminate as much eavesdropping from the students around them as possible. “I know things between us have been...rough, lately.”

                _I just wanted lunch,_ Lance thinks miserably, and sighs. “Rough isn’t really the best word for it.”

                “I know, I know,” Nyma says quickly, and has the audacity to touch his arm, until Lance shrugs her off, crosses his arms, keeps flicking his gaze between her and the front of the line. “But what happened between us a couple months ago was petty, and I think...you know, it’s senior year. I think we should just put that behind us and enjoy the last few months, shouldn’t we?”

                If it were something harmless, something _truly_ petty, maybe Lance would consider it.

                But he can’t.

                Still, he takes the time to make like he’s turning her words over in his head, takes the time to make like he’s actually weighing his choices here before he goes with his gut decision.

                “No,” he finally says stiffly. “You hurt me, and I really don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

                He turns away from her, but out of the corner of his eye he can still see her, watches her shoulders bunch and fists clench, just for a moment, as she grits her teeth, and huffs.

                “Lance—”

                “I _said_ I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

                Nyma doesn’t speak after that; she doesn’t really get the chance, either, because the lunch line moves up again; his saving grace, as he turns to thank one of the lunch ladies for the tray she passes over the top of the counter, and then he’s free to hit checkout, free of Nyma. He pays as quickly as he can and speed-walks (not runs, because he’ll get in trouble for that, and he’s not keen on getting scolded right now) all the way to the other end of the cafeteria, to his usual lunch table.

                He fires off a series of texts to the group chat summarizing what just happened, and a minute or two later, a body drapes itself over him from behind, strong arms winding around his neck, warmth pressing in against his back.

                “Hey.”

                Unlike the greeting from before, this one’s not chipper. This one’s soft and knowing, as a kiss is dropped on his head. Lance leans back, tilts his head up, wraps hands around the arms’ wrists as he looks Keith in the eyes and returns his gentle smile.

                “Hey yourself.”

                Keith lets Lance go, only momentarily, to sit in his usual seat right next to Lance, and opens his arms for a hug that Lance readily returns. He drops right into his embrace, buries his face in the side of Keith’s neck and holds tight to his back.

                “Why is she like that, Keith?” he grumbles, as Keith pets his hair. “Why can’t we have normal fucking lives and normal fucking exes?”

                “I don’t know,” Keith replies quietly.

                “ _I don’t want her back_. I just want you.”

                As if Keith really has any reason to worry, anyway. “I know, Starboy. You’ve already got me.”

                He’s got Keith, and Keith has him—in his heart, and in his arms. He keeps running fingers through Lance’s hair until Pidge arrives to the lunch table and rather loudly sets down her tray. Keith looks up; Lance, too, but barely, and the moment he sees Pidge, he reburies his face.

                “Pidge, if you say _anything_ , I’m going to have to kill you,” Keith says. “You know he’s fragile.”

                “I’m not fragile,” Lance mumbles somewhere into Keith’s skin, but he knows what Keith means, and is grateful for the protection anyway.

                “I won’t say anything,” Pidge says rather exasperatedly, “except for this: in front of my _fucking_ salad, _again?_ ”

                Keith shrugs, while Lance raises one finger in her direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see u tomorrow for tv show of choice!!!


	23. the power to end friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: tv show of choice  
> alternate universe: total drama island au  
> characters: keith, lance, pidge, hunk, james griffin; mentioned coran, allura, romelle  
> relationships: keith/lance, mentioned allura/romelle  
> other tags: a good ol' clip show, portapotty confessionals, opinionated narrator
> 
> in which keith and lance are some rather interesting contestants on this season of total drama island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a whole section of this just dedicated to the very opinionated narrator roasting james griffin
> 
> i can't fucking stand him
> 
> to y'all james stans out there,,,, i hate him, not sorry
> 
> have fun!!!

**CLIP: 1.04.01  
** _CAM25A_

                You’re seeing it. I’m seeing it. Everyone tuned into this fucking channel is seeing it.

                “There are cameras everywhere, just _go with it._ ”

                “Lance—”

                “C’mon, Mullet!”

                “...Fine.”

                From this vantage point, the closest camera we’ve got, they’re distant and a little blurry, and talking far too loudly for the situation at hand. But, then again, wouldn’t you be shouting when the other team’s flag is in plain sight, with no one around to guard it, and all it would take is a boost to get it down from the tree it’s in?

                “I’m gonna lift you now—”

                “Are you _sure_ I shouldn’t be lifting you?”

                A pause. If we zoom in as far as we can, there’s the slightest trace of a glare to a flushed face, as the taller of the two campers huffs out a breath.

                “You underestimating me or something?”

 

 **CONFESSIONAL**  
_Lance McClain  
Roaring Lions_

                “Okay, so when I first auditioned for this show, I knew Keith was auditioning, and I made it explicitly clear we were rivals, y’know? I was hoping they’d stick us on opposite teams and all, so I could prove that I was better than him. I didn’t ask for this!”

                Lance, 18 and with looks that could win over anyone, stares exasperatedly into the camera in the one PortaPotty functioning as Camp Voltron’s confessional. He crosses his arms, and what a shame it is, because it downplays the broadness of the shoulders that twenty minutes ago were carefully balancing Keith Kogane in the camp’s last challenge.

                “I wasn’t trying to help him, alright? I was trying to help _the team._ And if we wanna win, I’m gonna have to work with him...and his stupid mullet…stupid so—”

                Sharply, he looks up, like maybe he was about to reveal something he shouldn’t, and then his mouth snaps shut and he leaves the stall before he says more, grumbling about _fucking Keith Kogane._

 

**CONFESSIONAL** __  
Keith Kogane  
_Roaring Lions_

                “Yeah, I knew about the rivalry.”

                Keith, 19, too, has his arms crossed. He, though, is much more relaxed as he kicks back in his seat and props his left foot on his right knee.

                “At least, that’s what he calls it.” A pause, as Keith looks off into the upper left corner of the screen, and smiles thoughtfully, a fleeting smile so quick the camera almost doesn’t catch it, before it abruptly is replaced with a scowl. “He can think what he wants, but we were never _rivals._ At least, from my point of view. But if that’s what we are _now,_ then fine. At least he’s still trying to help the team.”

                And then his eyes drift to the corner of the screen again, and he bites down on his lip, and—is that a blush?

                That’s a blush.

                Keith is blushing.

                “He always thinks he can one-up me,” Keith says, but his voice is distant this time, softer; then he hardens, and his gaze returns to the camera. “He can think what he wants, though! And whatever he says, we won that challenge because of _me_.”

 

**CLIP: 1.04.02  
** _CAM29C_

                There’s a whoop, as fingers lock around the orange flag stuck up in the tree—the color of the Shrieking Serpents, as opposed to the bright purple of the Roaring Lions—and yank it free of the branch it’s snagged on. Then there’s a second sound, closer to a cry of alarm, as Lance’s knees finally give out and bring Keith down on top of him in a heap.

                Regardless, they’ve got the flag.

                A buzzer sounds over the camp speakers littered throughout the woods and actual cabin area—courtesy of me, thank you—in the midst of wheezing from the ground.

                “We did it…,” Keith groans.

                “Your thighs could’ve crushed me,” Lance remarks in a mumble, face-down in the dirt and grass. A pause, and then a shrug as he makes the remark most of you more... _knowledgable_ viewers have already made in your heads: “I mean, not a terrible way to go.”

                Ah, yes. So secret. So discreet.

                You’re _on camera_ , you fools. And I’m definitely airing this as you speak.

                But then again, what they don’t know the viewers know won’t hurt, right? So long as the other campers don’t figure it out.

                “ _Lance_ ,” Keith rightfully scolds, even as his face heats.

                Lance only raises his head and shoots finger guns, while Keith rolls his eyes, scowls, and then gets to his feet, extending his free hand to help Lance up. Once Lance is standing, he twines their fingers for a moment, and Keith doesn’t dare move, as Lance looks down at their hands.

                “Cameras.”

                It’s a murmur our equipment barely picks up on from a very flustered Keith, as Lance suddenly remembers and yanks his hand out of Keith’s, over-exaggeratedly wipes it on his jeans, and snatches the flag from him.

                “Right,” he says out loud, feigning disgust. “Let’s just head back.”

                Of course, the Lions win the day, and the team quietly celebrates the fact that their two rivals seem to be working together for once.

 

 **CONFESSIONAL**  
_Katie “Pidge Gunderson” Holt  
Roaring Lions_

                Pidge, 16, isn’t even looking at the camera.

                If she were your _typical snarky girl_ , extra sparkly emphasis on _typical snarky,_  one might be expecting her to be leaning off to one side and filing her nails, only to look up slyly with some witty remark. Instead, though, she’s got a portable gaming console in her hands, and doesn’t bother looking up at all.

                “They’re in love.”

                Deadpan. Plain. Simple.

                A series of exploding noises sounds from the small console in her hands, and her shoulders bunch in further concentration; even so, she makes the time to speak.

                “Some of you may not see it, but trust me. It’s there.”

                Another beat.

                “Is the camera still on me? What else do you want me to say? It’s kinda fucking _obvious._ ”

                A third beat, and Pidge sits upright, eyes snapping forward.

                “Oh, for fuck’s sake, does this thing not shut off? I’m just trying to hide from Coran before he confiscates this.” She waves around the portable game, and grumbles something about reality TV being the worst thing since Lance and Keith’s apparent love story, and leaves the stall.

 

 **CLIP: 1.04.01**  
_CAMERA #25_

                So here’s the thing.

                People love to make shit up and fill in whatever gaps they can find. Whatever they create is colored by and reinforces their worldview. To those who look upon these two teammates from the Roaring Lions and want more than anything for them to b— _ahem, get together_ —will pick up on any little detail and shriek that they’re in love, endgame, whatever word they wanna use for it.

                Anyone on the opposite end of the spectrum will look at their shenanigans, compounded by McClain’s insistence upon flirting with anyone else in camp.

                And yet, that’s all it is.

                Because once the pursuit turns serious, Lance runs.

                Quite literally.

                One moment, he’s casually talking with the Shrieking Serpents’ Nyma. Then he’s dropping a kind compliment about her hair today. Then he’s smiling, and she’s smiling, and makes some remark about maybe meeting up later to _hang out_ —which, by that tone of voice, anyone well-versed in the ways of _teenagers_ knows she means _go on a date,_ maybe _make out,_ maybe _go even further_ if you’re into that sort of thing.

                And Lance laughs.

                And bolts.

                “He’s a disaster bi!” the audience at large clamors. “Of course he’d run!”

                Fair point.

                But we’ll see.

 

 **CONFESSIONAL**  
_James Griffin  
Shrieking Serpents_

                James, newly 19 and sporting a fresh haircut he received _just for the competition_ —his words, not ours, as he stepped off the boat on the docks of the island upon which Camp Voltron has made its home—stares at the camera with a bored expression. Unlike Pidge’s boredom, still hyperactive and not totally focused, he’s dead inside.

                That’s truly the only way to put it.

                “I don’t see it.”

                A shrug.

                “I’ve heard these people whispering and making bets, but I just...I don’t see it!”

                Ooh, a twinge of exasperation.

                Juicy. It almost makes up for me having to watch his face on this screen when I’d rather see literally anyone else, because as far as campers go, James isn’t...interesting. Son of two rich parents, top of his class at school...he’s the definition of “daddy’s got money” white boy.

                “I didn’t even think he was into guys, and people are telling me he’s got some thing for _Keith?_ _Keith Kogane?_ I don’t know why _anyone_ would, number one—”

                Did I mention he’s an asshole?

                It’s about his only personality trait, but _an antagonist makes for ratings, keep him on air,_ is what my higher-ups keep telling me, and so here we are.

                James spreads his palms. “Like, okay, fine. Lance is bi. News to me, but whatever. But _Keith?_ At least get some _taste._ ”

                Like I said, a “daddy’s got money” white boy. I’m not sure he’s exactly the authority on taste here.

                Satisfied with his own mini-rant, James leans back and crosses his arms and smirks at the camera. “Now, Lance and _Nyma?_ I saw those two today. _That’s_ where it’s gonna be going down. Keith and Lance? You’re delusional.”

 

 **CONFESSIONAL**  
_Hunk Garrett  
Roaring Lions_

                “I’m about to do something pretty terrible in the name of science.”

                The expression of guilt on Hunk’s 18-year-old face comes as no surprise to anyone who watched beyond the first episode. Those who watch this show, maybe stan Hunk, understand that he is loyal. Lance’s best friend (to a certain extent), and an older brother figure for Pidge.

                If the fan reactions to the other three episodes on Twitter are any indication, the people view Hunk as a ray of sunshine. Someone they can trust, y’know? His wardrobe full of yellows, greens, and oranges probably isn’t helping shoot down the sunshine metaphor, either.

                But Hunk is a snarky scientist; if you haven’t picked up on it now, then _damn,_ maybe we should air all the footage on the cutting room floor.

                Yes, he’s guilty, because he’s a _good person;_ but he’s not _innocent._

                “So,” he starts, and sucks in a breath as he folds his hands in his lap and twiddles his thumbs, “Keith and Lance. There are bets, running all around camp?”

                Yeah, there are bets alright.

                Inter-team and intra-team bets. If I’m right, the biggest betting pool is currently being run by Pidge, and she’s about to make way too much money.

                “Pidge asked for my help, and you know me,” Hunk goes on. “I like to help people. So I told her yes. And she asked me to do...something, y’know...that would end kinda badly for us if we were caught. So...meh, yeah, why not? And now everything’s in place, and it’s...a waiting game. But if it goes _well_...I’ll be back soon.”

                And without anything more, Hunk gets up and leaves.

                He returns an hour later, shrieking.

 

**CLIP: 443.MOV  
** _Hunk’s iPhone_

                Guys. Gals. Non-binary pals.

                The video you’re about to see definitely has the power to end friendships.

                My gut instinct was to cut to some other part of the camp—as it is, Romelle, part of the Shrieking Snakes, is currently having a lovely time with the Roaring Lions’ own Allura at the lake—but my higher-ups have _ordered me_ to air this.

                For the viewers, this charade of rivalry and bitterness has run its three-and-a-half episode course, and is about to come to an end. For the other campers...well, they can’t see these episodes. It’s a waiting game on how long it takes for this to leak. Who spills. Who keeps their mouths shut.

                The door to the Roaring Lions’ cabin creaks open, and a head pokes inside.

                Lance’s eyes sweep the room, when someone else steps into view, completely missing the camera—which, then, must be strategically hidden, if he doesn’t notice it, and walks into the frame from either to the side of it or from behind—as they greet Lance with a quick run and a hug.

                The hug isn’t some huge, over-the-top, cheesy romantic movie hug, where they run and one leaps and the other spins them in circles as their feet go flying in the air like carnival swings. But they’re still spinning; slowly, with arms tight around each other.

                “This is harder than I thought,” Lance admits in a whisper when they draw back, and somewhere, I can already hear the money being exchanged.

                Lance reaches for Keith’s face and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, and then presses their foreheads together and sighs, as his shoulders slump.

                “You killed my flirting game,” Lance mutters, and for a moment, Keith appears taken aback; but, of course, he knows what Lance truly means. He must, if—

                “The past year and a half could’ve fooled me, since you flirt with me nonstop.”

                —that.

                If that.

                If the fact that they’ve been together that long is any indication.

                “That’s the _problem_ ,” Lance says, but really, having a boyfriend for a year and a half doesn’t sound like a problem to _me,_ but if that’s what he wants to be worried about, well, all the more power to him—him, as he cups Keith’s face with his hand. “I wanna be flirting with _you_. Flirting with other people feels wrong when you’re right here.”

                Keith sweeps an arm around the room, but his gaze never leaves Lance’s.

                “Well, I’m right here, and we’re alone, now.”

                Yes, because right now, most other campers are either napping in other parts of the cabin, or the other cabin entirely, depending on the team, or they’re in the mess hall, or taking advantage of free time. Certainly, they’re taking advantage of theirs.

                “Are we ever gonna tell them? How long are we gonna keep this up for?” Lance asks. “I’ve...I’ve spent a long time hiding you. Regular life was hard enough, and...what are we _doing?_ This is reality TV. If we don’t get to it soon, someone’s gonna do it for us. I wanna let them know on _our terms._ ”

                If you’re wondering: yes, my higher-ups previewed this footage before shoving it in my face and telling me to put it on air.

                If you’re wondering: yes, my higher-ups are heartless.

                If you’re wondering: no, I’m not getting paid enough.

                A pained look crosses Keith’s face, even as he leans into Lance’s touch. “It was your idea, Lance.”

                “I-I know,” Lance replies, “but I wanna make sure we’re...we’re on the same page...a-and…”

                “Lance.”

                Oh, look, what a convenient time for the clip to cut out.

                Oh, what an even more convenient time for it to suddenly blink back to life.

                They’ve shifted positions, spun a little so Keith’s back’s entirely to the camera, and blocking both his own expressions and Lance’s from sight.

                “I’ve been ready for a long time,” Keith says. “If you wanna do it tonight or next week or whatever, I’m behind you one-hundred percent. I don’t wanna hide us anymore, either.”

                There’s movement— _oh,_ now that’s soft.

                Lance twists strands of hair at the nape of Keith’s neck, the mullet he’s spent the last three episodes making fun of.

                “I’m scared,” Lance admits quietly. “Hunk’s gonna have my head for keeping this from him.”

                Keith lets out a breathy laugh. “Pidge is gonna murder _me,_ so, y’know.”

                That’s where I’m allowed to cut it off, and hand it back to the confessional.

 

 **CONFESSIONAL**  
_Hunk Garrett  
Roaring Lions_

                “A YEAR AND A HALF?”

                Hunk is in crisis mode.

                “I’m his _best friend_ and Pidge is _Keith’s_ best friend? How did we _not notice?!_ Hell, Lance just up and _stopped flirting_ one day and we made fun of him for it and _never put the pieces together!_ They slid this one by us and they don’t think we’re gonna be LIVID?”

                Well, Hunk, Lance _did_ just say he knows he’s going to die the moment you find out, and Keith said the same about Pidge, but...to each their own, I guess.

                “I was going to say I’m a very bad person,” Hunk says, “but...but keeping this…?”

                Oh, no. Nononono. Please don’t break out the tears.

                “This is war,” Hunk says, suddenly stiff, and wipes a hand over his eyes. “Two...err...three...no, wait…” And Hunk pauses in the middle of his warpath to mentally tally up the number of people involved in this whole thing. I’m going to assume he excluded the technician he handed off the recordings to.

                “Four! Four can play at this game!” he declares, and then storms out of the confessional.

                This is going to get very messy, my friends.

                Am I allowed to finally cut to Allura and Romelle being drama-free and living their best lives? Yes? Excellent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had
> 
> too much fun
> 
> stan dsn


	24. i know who you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: camp half-blood  
> alternate universe: modern au, pjo au  
> characters: keith, lance; mentioned shiro, adam, various greek deities  
> relationships: klance, mentioned adashi
> 
> in which lance overthinks, and keith doesn't need to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u read squad up the godly parent sortings i did there do not match here
> 
> ivy, if ur reading this, u converted me congrats

                In all eighteen of his years, Keith has found few things that make his heart flutter the way it does now, wipe away his anxieties and put him at ease for a little while, the same ease that washes over him at this moment as he walks along the dock at Camp Half-Blood’s lake.

                There’s the sunset, for one. It’s a sunset Keith’s seen dozens, probably over a thousand times since he came here years ago, fleeing monsters that wouldn’t leave him alone until he crossed the camp barriers. But the sunset’s not really what he’s looking at. More so, it’s the boy silhouetted by the sunset as he climbs back up onto the dock, yanking himself up from the lake water.

                He shakes out his hair as he sits down and looks back, and then shoots a smile Keith’s way and pats the spot next to him. And yeah, the spot’s wet, and Keith’s not really in the proper clothing to be wet, but he can’t say no to Lance.

                Never has been able to, really.

                Not since they were kids, and there was some...magnetic pull to him. Even when he was insufferable and tried to create some _rivalry_ during camp games and training—Capture the Flag, especially.

                “Hey babe,” Lance greets, voice soft as he wraps one dripping arm around Keith, and kisses his temple.

                They’ve come a long way.

                “Hey,” Keith replies, and slides his arm around Lance’s waist, pulls him close and rests his head on his shoulder. “What’re you doing out here?”

                “More like _water_ you doing out here,” Lance says, and half of his mouth turns up, while Keith snorts.

                “That was terrible.”

                “You enjoyed it.”

                “Alright, alright, _yeah_ , I did. But not because of the joke itself, okay?”

                “Aw, I’m blushing, Kogane.”

                “Lance, now you’re dodging the question,” Keith says, and lifts his head, if only to look Lance in the eyes. “What are you doing out here by yourself? It’s gonna be nightfall soon.”

                Lance shrugs. “What, a guy can’t come out for a dip and watch the sunset?”

                “You usually don’t go out here alone unless something’s on your mind,” Keith replies. “Is everything alright?”

                Lance hesitates. His eyes search Keith’s; what for, Keith isn’t sure, but then he drops his arm from Keith’s shoulders and draws in on himself—bunched up, with his hands in his lap as he turns forward. His skin glistens droplets of water, and the setting sun bathes him in gold. His curls, especially, shine, and his eyes glitter like blue goldstone.

                “Just overthinking,” Lance answers quietly.

                “About what?”

                “...My godly parent.”

                Oh.

                It’s common that most demigods end up claimed by thirteen, but Lance is pushing eighteen—just over a month out. He’s spent his years at Camp Half-Blood in the Hermes cabin, with the other unclaimed kids, on top of Hermes’ actual children.

                “For a long time I thought it was Poseidon,” Lance says. “I feel...I feel better when I’m in the water, y’know? I thought for sure...and then my dad told me that he’s the biological parent, and he knew for sure he’d, y’know, had sex with a _goddess…_ ”

                Keith listens to Lance, even if his chest clenches a little, because he’s got all his parents still alive, where Keith spends many months of the year with Shiro, in his apartment with his fiancé. Shiro grew up his babysitter, became his brother, and somewhere along the way became...sort of an adoptive dad?

                It’s a little messy.

                He and Adam try their best to understand the whole _demigod_ thing, but Camp Half-Blood is where Keith truly belongs, and is truly safe, though they do their damnedest to protect him.

                For Lance, it’s the opposite.

                Even long after cabins have been constructed for lesser demigods, and those kids moved out of the Hermes cabin, there’s still a decent amount of crowding and overflow. Multiple nights, Lance has hidden himself in the Ares cabin (read: Keith’s bed, and his arms) just to breathe.

                “I’m almost eighteen,” Lance whispers, while Keith rubs his back, up and down along the column of his spine. “I feel like a fraud here. I feel...I feel fucking _forgotten._ I can’t just up and leave and pretend I’m _not_ a demigod...I don’t fit in in the mortal world, I don’t fit in here…”

                Lance sniffles, and Keith’s heart cracks.

                He brings his other arm around Lance’s front and pulls him in for a hug, as Lance buries his face in the side of Keith’s neck and stifles his first sob.

                And Keith’s not exactly the best with words, but this is Lance.

                “You don’t _need_ to fit in, Lance,” Keith says quietly. “But if it makes you feel better, I think you fit in just fine. You’ve got tons of friends, and, y’know...you’ve got me.” His voice drops at that last part, because in the grand scheme of things, his presence in Lance’s life—

                “Thank you.”

                It’s a mumble, but it’s genuine. Lance speaks it into Keith’s shoulder with another sniffle, and Keith holds him tighter.

                “You don’t need to be claimed to be real, you don’t need to be claimed to fit in...and honestly, whoever’s not claiming you…” It’s a bold thing, to speak out against the gods, but Keith takes in a breath. He’s never been one for caring about rules much, anyway. “Whoever’s not claiming you’s made a big mistake, because you’re a _gift,_ Lance. You’re the kind of person your godly parent should be tripping over themselves to claim, and the fact that they don’t see it? Their fault.”

                Lance pulls back abruptly, eyes wide.

                “Keith!”

                “I mean it,” Keith says, and he grips Lance by the biceps and squeezes. “It’s their loss, but even without knowing your godly parent, I know who you are. You’re Lance, and you’re kind, and brave, and strong, and selfless, and _loyal._ Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. I know you’ve been the best thing in mine.”

                He tilts his head and tries for a smile, while more tears well up in Lance’s eyes and spill over, and he yanks Keith back in for an even harder hug. He digs fingers into Keith’s back while Keith holds him, holds him and shuts his eyes.

                “I love you,” Lance whispers hoarsely.

                It’s about then that Keith senses it, that shift in the air. He opens his eyes and pulls back slightly; Lance does the same, squinting at him in confusion, but that’s when he first sees it, and rips himself out of Keith’s arms, scrabbles back on the dock, nearly tumbles back into the water.

                “What the fuck?” Keith whispers, while Lance raises panicked eyes.

                “Keith—?”

                Red shimmers in the air around Lance, swirls around his limbs in a thick fog, and then suddenly it envelopes him. Keith draws the sword he keeps strapped to his side and gets to his feet, but he has a feeling he knows what this is. He hasn’t seen it in a while, but he remembers from his younger years, and suddenly remembers what else—

                “Oh gods.”

                The red fog fades, almost as quickly as it came on, and Keith’s sword nearly falls out of his hand when he sees what’s left behind in its wake.

                “Aphrodite’s Blessing.”

                It tumbles from Keith’s mouth in an awed whisper, as Lance’s head snaps up. “What?!”

                Keith doesn’t answer; his eyes wander over Lance. And he’s _allowed,_ of course—has been for a long time now—but _this…_

                Lance’s jeans and camp t-shirt and sneakers still sit in a pile a little further down the dock, but his swim trunks have been replaced with a white tunic, clasped at his shoulders with platelets of gold. His biceps, too, are encircled with gold armbands in square patterns, and fake gold laurel leaves rest on his head.

                And...yeah, okay, the outfit...Keith can’t say he’s too pissed about it.

                But the rest of him. _The rest of him._

                His hair, once curling up around its ends, wet with the lake water, has returned to its straightened state—the kind of straightened Lance usually has to do himself in the mornings. His hair’s a little shinier, too, with a tousle too carefully arranged to be casual, even though it tries to come off that way. And his lashes are darker, his skin’s glowing, clearer…

                “Keith, repeat what you just said, _please?_ ”

                So Keith does.

                “Aphrodite’s Blessing,” he says, and walks forward this time, frowning. “You know what that is, Lance.”

                “Yeah, of _course_ I fucking know—but—this—me— _APHRODITE?_ ”

                “Apparently,” Keith says.

                Lance pauses in his panic long enough to shoot him a glare. “Ap _parent_ ly. This is _not_ the time for puns, Keith! My—my mom—she just— _right now?_ NOW?”

                Lance sputters and makes a few more noises that sound like the beginnings of words, the starts to thoughts that he never finishes. He gestures to his tunic, motions up and down his body frantically, wordlessly. “THIS?!”

                “Lance.”

                Keith keeps his voice even, and grabs Lance by the shoulders. Lance flinches, but doesn’t wrench away. When he doesn’t try to get away, Keith squeezes his shoulders.

                “Lance, look at me, hey.” Keith releases one of his shoulders and gently tips his chin up; Lance still stares at the ground, until Keith’s hand moves to his cheek, and he strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. “This is new and scary, and really sudden. I know.”

                “I’m gonna have to go back to _camp like this_ ,” Lance says. “I’m gonna have to tell everyone _hey, yeah, finally got claimed and I’m an Aphrodite kid, what’s up?_ And I’m gonna have to do it like this!”

                “Hey, hey.” Keith swallows the heart climbing into his throat and keeps his voice low, as soft and soothing as he can make it. “Lance, it’s gonna be okay. Look—hey, look at me. You’ve been waiting for this for years—”

                “But _why just suddenly now?_ ” Lance asks the question, and then drops his eyes again, and his face scrunches, like he’s working out an equation. “I...I don’t…”

                “You don’t have to tell everyone yet if you don’t want to,” Keith says. “I can probably sneak you into the Ares cabin for a while, and we can do something about…” He frowns, again, and reaches up and tugs on Lance’s bangs, frown deepening. “This.”

                “...Can we just camp here?” Lance asks, voice small. “I don’t want to deal with this right now, I just...I need…”

                “Need space?” Keith supplies, mouth curving up slightly.

                Lance nods, and Keith releases him, as Lance walks back to the edge of the dock. He uncomfortably tugs on the bottom of his tunic, and then casts a glance back at his camp clothes. Then he shakes his head, and tugs the gold laurels from his head, slides his armbands off, and drops them on the planks, and then dives back into the water.

                Keith watches him, as his head comes back up, hair still perfect as ever.

                ...Well, no, not perfect.

                Keith lingers a moment more before he turns and starts back in the direction of his cabin, to go gather up some sleeping bags and pillows, the revelation still weighing heavily on his mind. He’s never really liked Aphrodite’s Blessing to begin with, but seeing it on Lance...something cold pools in gut.

                Lance, well...no one’s perfect, but to Keith, Lance has always been pretty close. He’s never needed a goddess’ blessing to be someone worthy, because he’s been worthy this whole time just by being himself. And a child of _Aphrodite…_

                Keith bites his lip and shakes his head. There’ll be rumors, Aphrodite kid stereotypes he’ll have to deal with, once he actually decides to tell the rest of camp about it, and Keith’s gonna be at his side every step of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stan deceit so natural u cowards


	25. i came to check on you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: neighbors  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent somewhere prior to s3e5  
> characters: keith, lance  
> relationships: klance  
> other tags: mutual pining, nightmares, hurt/comfort, protective keith
> 
> in which keith wakes up to the sound of screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u ever just, ,,, , ,, ,, , cry bc kl

                Keith’s already grown accustomed to a lot, the last year and a half aboard the Castle of Lions. He’s grown accustomed to sleeping in space, grown accustomed to encountering weird aliens almost every other day, grown accustomed to knowing these walls aren’t permanent and there may come a day someone on the team will never walk them again.

                He’s not accustomed to the screaming that isn’t his own.

                There are only two rooms down this side of the hall—his own, and Lance’s. If it were any other sound, maybe something closer to agitated yelling, or obnoxiously loud thumping, or obscene amounts of laughter for the hour, he’d be pissed. Burt the fact that the sound comes from the direction of Lance’s room, and the fact that it _is_ screaming…

                Keith throws his thin sheet off of himself and snatches up his Marmora knife from underneath his pillow. Then his feet hit the floor and he’s moving. His door slides open with a hiss, and he pokes his head into the hall.

                It’s empty, but out here, the screaming is louder.

                Keith catches sight of Lance’s door; it’s closed, so either he’s alone, or someone’s in there. With him. Hurting him.

                Keith bolts.

                Lance’s door opens up when he slams his hand down on the scanner outside of it, meaning Lance hasn’t locked it for the night like Keith usually does with his own door. Better for him in this moment, but if someone’s gotten in—

                Another scream pierces Keith’s ears.

                His head whips toward Lance’s bed, where Lance...isn’t even awake.

                _Oh._

                Even through his sleep, Lance thrashes. The blankets have been kicked down to his ankles, and his body jerks like he’s struggling against someone holding him back. He’s definitely trying to say words, but they all come out incoherent, choked up by crying.

                “Lance,” Keith breathes out, and his eyes scan the room for a place to set down his knife, because he neglected his belt. He ends up setting it on the floor, over near the wall, and then slowly, he turns and approaches Lance’s bedside. He repeats his name, but Lance still doesn’t wake up. His shouting has devolved into one word, _no,_ repeated over and over again.

                Keith bites his lip, and then reaches to shake Lance’s shoulder. The moment Keith lays a steady, heavy hand upon him, Lance’s eyes snap open, and he recoils violently, and ends up slamming into the wall next to his bed with a loud bang. When he raises his head and meets Keith’s eyes, Keith’s breath catches in his throat. He knew Lance was crying, but the tears spill down his cheeks, over puffy red eyelids.

                “K-Keith?”

                “I—yeah, hi.” Keith draws back, just a little. “You, uh...you were screaming. I came to check on you.”

                He inches back further, moves to straighten out to full height when Lance’s hand shoots out, wraps around his wrist, tugs him back in. Lance turns his hand over feels up his arm, and stifles what might be a sob or might be a gasp.

                Then he shoots to his feet and yanks Keith into a crushing hug.

                He buries his face in the crook of Keith’s neck, and for a moment, all Keith can do is stand there, stunned, unsure of what to do with his arms, unsure of what to make of the sudden contact, sudden affection where he hadn’t been expecting any.

                “You’re alive,” Lance chokes out. “You’re— _Keith_ —”

                His voice breaks and brings Keith back to the situation at hand. He wraps his arms carefully around Lance.

                “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m here.”

                He and Lance hold each other for a long time in a silence punctuated by sniffles, until finally they subside, and Lance lets Keith go and drags a blue sleeve over his face, and then glances at Keith again, crosses his arms, and turns away.

                “Y-You didn’t see that. O-Or hear it.”

                “Lance, what happened?”

                Keith deliberately ignores Lance’s statement. For a moment, Lance’s shoulders tense, like he’s going to drag this out and deny everything until he annoys Keith out of the room. But then they slump, and he sits down on the edge of his bed, hunches over, and buries his face in his hands. The whole time, Keith watches him, arms crossed, for the lack of anything better to do with them.

                “Nightmare,” Lance mumbles, muffled, but Keith hears him. 

                Keith almost replies, _well, yeah, I kind of gathered that,_ but swallows that one down, and asks instead, “Y’wanna talk about it?”

                His question hangs in the air, as Lance hesitates, and then slowly lifts his head, peeks up from behind his hands. His wet eyes meet Keith’s, and he drags in another shuddering breath.

                “You.”

                It’s a confession so small and sudden Keith nearly doesn’t catch it; once he registers it, he raises his eyebrows fractionally.

                “Me?”

                A heartbeat, and then Lance nods, drops his head back down but lets his hands fall away from his mouth and into his lap. “It’s a recurring nightmare. I didn’t realize I was so loud. Sorry for waking you up.”

                Whatever ounce of denial he possessed before has fallen away and left him completely open, as he averts his eyes to the floor. He must know he’s just dropped a bomb on Keith, he _must_ , on some level at the very least. But in his exhausted state, Keith guesses he either doesn’t care or doesn’t have the energy _to_ care.

                “It’s recurring?”

                Keith takes a step forward, and when Lance doesn’t flinch or move away from him, he sits down next to Lance, mirrors his pose and props his forearms on his knees. He keeps his head turned to the side, studies Lance’s profile as he continues studying the ground.

                “Yeah,” Lance says, voice hoarse.

                “How long have you been having this nightmare?” Keith asks after a few moments.

                Lance’s tongue pokes out between his lips for just a second, and then he purses his lips, sighs. “This one in particular? A few months now. At first it was just maybe once every one or two weeks, but...it’s getting worse. Especially since Cyrelis. But the nightmares themselves...for a long time now.”

                It’s a lot to pick through at once; Keith’s mind latches onto Cyrelis. The mission was almost a month ago, and Keith’s chest tightens, heart and lungs squeeze every time he thinks about it. It had been a trap, Keith had led the team into _another damn trap_ , and when he intended to take the fall for it, he meant it. Even at the cost of his own life.

                He still remembers Lance screaming that day, remembers the Red Lion’s energy wrapping around him with the heat and rage of a forest fire, remembers arms carrying him to safety, remembers seeing armor stained with his blood.

                “What’s the nightmare about? The recurring one…be-besides me,” Keith whispers.

                Lance shakes his head. “It...I...I had a job. On a mission. I failed everyone, a-and I failed _you._ I was...was supposed to have your back, but you…” He shakes his head harder and gasps sharply again, and Keith reaches a hand out, squeezes Lance’s thigh in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

                “It’s alright,” he says. “It didn’t happen, okay? You had my back on Cyrelis. You _always_ have my back.”

                Keith will spare Lance every last detail he’s stored away in his mind, every instance Lance has dragged him back from certain death or crushing defeat, every instance Lance has led the team where he couldn’t, kept them together where he let them fracture, every instance Lance rose up when he fell short.

                “I know,” Lance says, “but I’m…”

                “You’re…?”

                Lance sighs. “I-I haven’t been sleeping properly because of this, and if I don’t sleep I slip up, and if I slip up it _will_ happen, and I can’t…I don’t want that on my conscience. I need to be the best I can be. It’s already hard enough…” He closes his eyes, shakes his head a third time. “I can never get back to sleep. I wake up, I don’t know where I am or what’s going on and I’m _alone_ …”

                “So don’t sleep alone.”

                It slips out of Keith’s mouth before he can stop it. He freezes, while Lance slowly turns to look at him.

                “I-I can stay with you.”

                Well. He’s already begun digging. May as well keep at it.

                “You’ve got my back, right?” Keith says. “And your nightmares...y-you said they revolve...around losing me. A lot. So, if we sleep together— _just,_ sleeping, only sleeping—then you don’t wake up alone, and you can see that I’m okay. And if you wake up screaming, I can help you.”

                Lance hesitates.

                “I have nightmares, too,” Keith adds quickly, voice dropping. “This could benefit both of us, and it makes the team stronger, right?”

                This time, he catches the ends of Lance’s mouth tugging up, though his small smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Regardless, Lance finally gives in with a nod. “If you think it’ll help...then maybe it’ll work. That’s why you’re the team leader, right? Good ideas?”

                “More like reckless ideas that give you nightmares,” Keith whispers.

                He finally looks away, finally drops his eyes to the floor. Just as he pulls his hand away, Lance’s comes down on it, and he intertwines their fingers from behind. Keith’s head snaps back in his direction almost immediately, while Lance tries for a wistful smile.

                “You’re doing the best you can, Keith.”

                Keith tries to return his smile, but it fades, and that’s when they both know it’s best to just stop talking. Wordlessly, Lance crawls over to the other side of the bed, and opens up his arms for Keith. He doesn’t ask if Keith would prefer they don’t touch, doesn’t ask how they should go about it, just _moves_ , and Keith follows suit. He lies down next to Lance with his head somewhere near Lance’s shoulder, as Lance drapes an arm over his side.

                “Is this okay?” Lance mumbles after the fact, and Keith manages a grunt in confirmation. It’s good enough, and Lance snuggles a little bit closer, whispers _good night,_ and falls silent and motionless after that.

                In his exhausted state, Keith’s heart can’t be bothered to ramp up at their closeness. He accepts it for what it is—tonight, and the following nights after, as it becomes a regular arrangement, so regular that they hit a point where they stop asking, and simply alternate between whose room they share each night.

                They’re both well-rested for more than two consecutive nights for the first time in almost a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three more days...the end is nigh...
> 
> stan deceit so natural & stealing our own place in the sun


	26. loverboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: artists/performers  
> alternate universe: canon-divergent...in s7, maybe? i dunno. somewhere.  
> characters: keith, lance, allura, various aliens; mentions of shiro, pidge, hunk, coran  
> relationships: keith/lance  
> other tags: established relationship, loverboy lance but done well, shenanigans
> 
> keith and lance infiltrate a palace by sneaking in as loverboy lance and his escort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have u seen ocean's 8
> 
> it's a little bit like that but not really
> 
> anyway
> 
> enjoy

                “This has got to be your worst idea yet.”

                Keith crosses his arms and leans against the wall in the room they’ve been given in Juruie’s palace, the room that currently serves as both their sleeping quarters for the duration of this mission, as well as Lance’s dressing room. Given that they haven’t come as Paladins, it’s nothing special—small and a little cramped, if Keith is honest.

                With his back to Keith, Lance meets his eyes through the mirror of the vanity he sits in front of.

                “Maybe so,” he answers, mouth quirking up, “but here you are running with it anyway. What’s that one really old saying? Something about the fool and following?”

                Keith rolls his eyes. “ _Who’s more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him?_ ”

                Lance snaps his fingers and points at Keith’s reflection in the mirror. “Yes, that one. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but you decided to back me on it instead of coming up with anything better, so you can’t talk.” Then his smirk drops from his face as he peers closer at himself, and sets to fixing the sparkling blue eyeshadow he’s wearing.

                It goes right along with the dark full-body leotard Keith struggles to not stare at—though he has every right—and the tousled waves of Lance’s hair, dusted with glitter.

                “Fair point,” Keith finally concedes, “but I still don’t know if I’m comfortable with this. If something goes wrong, you’ve got no protection, and I still don’t know how I feel about your whole...persona.”

                “Loverboy Lance is a gift to this world, thank you,” Lance says, pointing the end of the makeup brush at Keith this time. “I’ll be fine. Allura should be somewhere in the audience, Hunk and Shiro are on standby, and Pidge is monitoring everything. You worry about your end of the mission.”

                Lance sets his brush down and gives himself one last once-over, and then reaches for some kind of spray—setting spray, if Keith remembers the term correctly—while Keith crosses his arms tighter and chews on his lower lip. He watches Lance shut his eyes and spritz the bottle, watches him put the cap on when he’s done and wink at himself in the mirror, with his index finger and thumb framing his chin.

                Then he catches sight of Keith’s expression.

                His fingers drop away, and he pushes back in his chair, rises to his feet, approaches Keith slowly. He stops right in front of Keith, who meets his eyes with a hard gaze, stops biting his lip long enough to give Lance a deep frown.

                “You believe in me, don’t you?” Lance asks, and reaches up to cup Keith’s cheek.

                “Of course I do,” Keith answers, tilting his head into Lance’s touch. “Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you. Just because I believe in you doesn’t mean I believe in everyone else, either. Just...be careful, alright? You don’t even have a weapon on you.”

                “I’ll stay safe if you do,” Lance responds. “After all, you’ve got no one watching your back, like literally. If you get into trouble…”

                Keith nods. “If I get into trouble, you guys keep at the mission, I’ll—”

                “ _The others_ will keep at the mission, I’m coming to rescue your ass,” Lance interrupts. “You’ve got me, and I’ve got you. It goes both ways.” Keith opens his mouth, but Lance keeps going. “Don’t even try the _I hate seeing you in pain because of me_ thing, because that goes both ways, too. You know this.”

                Of course Keith knows it.

                Doesn’t mean he has to like it.

                _You have to survive this war so I can bring you back to your family alive and in one piece_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward, and Lance brings his other hand up and pulls Keith in the rest of the way, while Keith’s arms slide around Lance’s waist.

                Lance moves his mouth slowly, gently against Keith’s, and Keith matches his motions, breathes in and out, deep through his nose.

                “We’ve got this,” Lance murmurs when he draws back. “We’re a good team.”

                “The best team,” Keith completes their mantra, and he releases Lance, while Lance lets go of him.

                “That’s it,” Lance says, full-on grinning. “Good luck, Samurai.”

                “Good luck, Sharpshooter.”

                Lance winks at him over his shoulder as he starts out the door. “That’s Loverboy to you, at least for today.” Then he slips out and closes the door, and leaves Keith alone with the single TV monitor suspended on the wall, which has been jacked into the auditorium camera feed since they arrived.

                The auditorium is already crowded, jam-packed with people eager to see the newest intergalactic superstar. It took a lot of hacking from Pidge and a lot of bullshitting from Allura to get word to spread around about _Loverboy Lance_ , a ropes performer and trapeze artist with a special flair for charming crowds.

                Their bullshitting worked; as far as Keith knows, security in Juruie’s palace is working overtime on crowd control and guarding the auditorium, guarding the rest of the castle by blocking entrances from the auditorium wing.

                Which means there’s no one guarding the guest rooms—not when the two guards assigned to Lance leave with him, to usher him backstage for his performance.

                With no one around, Keith sets to work on his own mission. When he and Lance first arrived, they’d been donning finery best suited for royalty, clothes Coran had managed to bargain for at the space mall. Keith ditches his own clothes in a pile on top of Lance’s, now, and digs out the Blade of Marmora uniform he’d been gifted to him by an anonymous blade member, _just in case._

                It’s going to come in handy now.

                The uniform’s dark, deep violets and gunmetal gray as he tugs on a jumpsuit, armor. Snaps on his belt around his waist, with his Marmora blade snug at the small of his back. Then he throws the hood over his head, and a mask shimmers on over his face.

                Keith flicks his eyes back to the TV screen. Someone’s taking the stage for opening ceremonies, which means it’s time for him to move. The quicker he gets out, the quicker he finds the palace vault, the quicker he finds whatever the hell the Galra have hidden here, the quicker he and Lance can _leave._

 

* * *

 

                So leaving might be an issue.

                The performance was supposed to end with Lance being escorted back to his room, where he would find Keith with whatever it was they came to find, change back into his nicer clothes, the ones he’s able to slip at least his flightsuit underneath, and then he and Keith would bid the king and queen goodbye, link up with Allura, and then hightail it the fuck out of there.

                In the middle of his ropes act, legs carefully wound and supporting most of his weight in pink silk, he notices dark figures lurking in the rafters of the stage, concealed from the audience, and they don’t look like any Galra, don’t look like anyone from Juruie, don’t look like _Keith._

                _Well, fuck._

                He’s got no way of contacting the team, because he has no headset—no earpiece to check in, no mic. He searches for Allura in the audience and tries his best to keep a serene smile on his face, but he can’t _find her,_ because she probably freaking _shapeshifted_ so she’d blend in and people wouldn’t realize she’s the _Princess of Altea,_ and—

                _Alright, Loverboy, use what you’ve got to your advantage. The show must go on._

                Lance did theatre as a kid. And gymnastics. And soccer. And swimming. And almost every extracurricular known to man because he couldn’t just choose one. He remembers rehearsals going well and then kids fumbling in the middle of the show, and others rushing in to fill in the gaps, and the justification: _the audience doesn’t know the difference._

                Truly, he himself doesn’t even know the difference, so at this point, it’s not like it matters. He’s just meant to be a distraction.

                Lance keeps going like nothing’s wrong, and hoists himself higher, untangling his legs and instead catching his wrists as he twirls along to the soft music playing. In the few seconds he has his back to the audience, he catches sight of the two figures in the rafters, only to find that one’s disappeared from view.

                _Shit._

                Lance wonders if Pidge is seeing this, if she’s got a projection of the room pulled up in front of her back in the Green Lion that shows every single person here, that shows the mysterious people up here. He hopes so, as he untangles himself again and starts descending the rope, swinging in a wider and wider circle, as the audience makes a noise of amazement.

                As soon as the circle’s wide enough, Lance makes the leap from the first rope to a second one, dangling nearby, and catches himself on that one, continues spinning in circles just as the figure that’d disappeared comes back into view, sliding down the rope he was just on.

                His eyes shift toward the top of the rope he’s on right now—the other one’s coming down, too.

                Lance keeps spinning. It’ll slow this one down, just a little, if his descent isn’t completely stable, isn’t completely vertical. He lets his hands slip free of the rope and instead chooses to hold on tight, and swing his legs out, more like Tarzan than a ropes performer. His spinning picks up speed, and a few times, as he goes around, his feet nearly catch on the other rope.

                _That’s it._

                By now, both of the newcomers have appeared— Lance can tell when gasps go up from the audience. He lets his smile morph, from a small curve, prim and proper, to a full-on smirk, as he narrows his eyes. The one on his rope is struggling, still, but the other’s having just fine a time getting down, until he sees Lance making contact with his rope every few seconds.

                It’s too late for him to drop, by then.

                On the next go-around, Lance kicks him right in the head.

                The kick would probably be more effective, if he were wearing shoes, but he’s barefoot. He smashes his heel into the back of his assailant’s head—his assailant, who isn’t wearing any helmet.

                There are more gasps from the audience: some scandalized, some amazed, some not sure what the hell is happening. There’s movement, too, and Lance allows himself one look to see someone getting up and moving, their skin shifting from a bright pink back to its normal black.

                Allura.

                She loses a hunch and limp, as wrinkles on her face disappear, and what she was using as a cane before elongates into a staff. Lance can’t cry out a warning fast enough, as her actions draw the attention of the venue security—he really doesn’t have the time, because he’s got his own issues to deal with.

                The one he kicked in the head remains sprawled out on the floor, unmoving. Hopefully unconscious, hopefully not dead.

                The other one, still hanging onto the rope Lance begins sliding down himself, lets go and comes down with an elbow aimed right at Lance’s face.

                Lance swings.

                He leaps from one rope and barely catches himself on the other, fingers slipping for a moment before he adjusts his grip. The other hits the floor with a cry of pain, rolls over and inspects their now-useless arm for a moment before turning their gaze on Lance—or what Lance assumes must be their gaze, because they’re wearing a black mask, to go with their all-black ensemble—

                _Oh, what the fuck?_

                Another shadow moves through the rafters.

                Then it glances at Lance, seemingly meets his eyes, and—wait.

                _I know that uniform._

                The shadow leaps down and catches on the rope opposite the one Lance is currently on, slides down, as Lance’s second attacker staggers back to their feet. The second attacker takes a step back, as the third figure comes into view, while the audience gasps again.

                The third figure wastes no time.

                They straighten out like a pencil diver and drop-kick the second assailant, and they go limp as they hit the floor.

                The third figure backflips after their kick connects and lands solidly on two feet, just about center-stage. They turn slightly, until they’re fully facing the audience, and take a bow, before they spin on Lance, who slowly descends the rest of the rope, until he’s on both feet.

                At this angle, the audience can’t see Keith’s face, as his Blade mask shimmers away, and he mouths _go with it_ at Lance.

                Lance can most certainly go with it.

                “Hello, my elusive lover,” Lance says, voice low and as seductive as he can make it, but still loud enough for the audience to hear, as he stretches out his hand in offering. He flicks his gaze out once, and sees Allura in the back of the room, out of view of everyone else, both security guards sound asleep. The rest of the audience leans forward in mesmerization, and it’s good enough for Lance.

                He returns his attention to Keith and pulls him into a dance along to the music. When he goes to twirl Keith, Keith flips the script, and twirls him instead. When he pulls Lance back in, he dips him, turns his head so his hood conceals his face from the audience. Meanwhile, Lance holds onto Keith’s shoulder with one arm, and lets the other fall limp at his side, and breathes hard.

                Keith’s mask dissolves, and Keith lets out a wheeze. Regardless, he smiles at Lance, while Lance smiles back up at him, and then grips the side of his hood and tugs it further in front of the both of them as he leans in, and Keith readjusts, tightening the arm he has on Lance’s back.

                “You okay?” Keith whispers when their lips are barely touching.

                “Yeah,” Lance answers. “You get what we came here for?”

                “Already back in the room. Came back here as fast as I could,” Keith replies. “Pidge and Hunk are gonna have a field day with it back in the labs.”

                “Good. Now let me have my field day,” Lance says, and Keith grins again, and closes the distance between them, while the audience roars.

                Lance draws back first, but stays in Keith’s space, keeps both of their faces hidden from audience view.

                “You know we’ve still gotta get off the planet, right?” Keith asks, and Lance huffs out a laugh.

                “I charmed our way in, I can charm our way out,” he says, and Keith rolls his eyes.

                “Alright _Loverboy._ Let’s get to it, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stan dsn and soopits u cowards
> 
> also...for tomorrow...if u haven't read [this oneshot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341532) yet u might wanna wink-wonk
> 
> see u then


	27. giving up (not yet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fantasy  
> alternate universe: magic-users ([fire up, let go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341532) universe)  
> characters: keith, lance, kosmo; mentioned allura  
> relationships: keith/lance  
> other tags: sick keith, protective lance, lance w/water powers  
>  **trigger warnings for a LOT OF TALK OF DEATH**
> 
> in which keith and lance set out on a mission to restore keith's powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a followup/continuation of the fic linked in the universe description, so if u want more than like,, ,, ,, 2k words for a fantasy prompt, go read the one-shot if u haven't!!! it's almost like 8k
> 
> you kind of need to read it to understand this anyway
> 
> alrighty have fun be very careful when reading if the talk of death/inevitability of death is triggering maybe skip this one take care of urself first

                “Okay, c’mon, you need to rest.”

                “No I don’t, I can...I can keep going…”

                “Mmm, how about no?”

                Despite the light tone of his voice, Lance feels anything but, as he holds Keith’s wrist in one hand and has his other arm wrapped around Keith’s waist, supporting his weight, supporting the limp arm around his shoulders. Lance has been following the sound of running water for a while now, and stops when the river finally comes into view.

                Gently, slowly, he lets go of Keith, lets Keith test out the feel of his full weight back on both of his legs, and then helps ease him to the ground, as Keith shrugs off his bag and lets it hit the grass. Lance crouches down in front of Keith, as Keith leans back, props his head up on his bag and stares at the clouds moving in.

                “It’s been about twelve hours,” Lance remarks, voice quieter than before. “You’re gonna have to take the medicine again.”

                Keith groans, and covers his eyes with his arm, while Lance takes off his own bag, opens the compartment he’s stored the vials in. His gut twists when he counts how many vials are left: just four. They’re running behind, because they’ve got another three days until they reach Daibazaal, home to the Druids of the Komar, the only place they’ll be able to get Keith’s powers back...granted the Druid who stole them doesn’t leave before then.

                Lance frowns. Keith has to take a vial every twelve hours; Lance isn’t sure how long he can stretch that, if he can make it to thirteen or fourteen hours between doses without dying. Even then, that small change won’t make much of a difference, if there’s an extra twenty-four hours they don’t have medicine for.

                He doesn’t think Keith will be able to survive an extra six hours between doses.

                The only thing he can think of is to send Kosmo back home, back to Allura, to see if she and the others can get another few vials made. But teleporting takes a toll on the wolf, who’s been dutifully following Keith and Lance this whole time, and is currently sniffing a bush. To send him back home would take time; making the vials would take time; coming back would take time that Keith and Lance can’t afford to waste by staying in one spot.

                Lance also doesn’t want to risk trying to teleport ahead and save the journey time, because part of Kosmo’s magic is tethered to Keith, and trying anything is putting him even further at risk—risk of injury, risk of…

                Death.

                Lance needs to be honest with himself.

                Honest with Keith, who’s sitting up now, who’s realized Lance is hesitating, is staring at the vials before him.

                “We don’t have enough, do we?”

                Keith asks a question he already knows the answer to, so Lance can’t lie to him. Lying wouldn’t really benefit him, either—not when he’d just overestimate himself and overexert himself because of it.

                “No, we don’t,” Lance answers, voice hoarse.

                His confession hangs over them in the ensuing silence, as Lance hangs his head, takes one of the vials, and thrusts it at Keith.

                It doesn’t leave his hand.

                Lance looks back and finds Keith’s eyes boring into him, dull and hollow. He flicks his eyes once to the vial, then back to Lance, and lets loose a sigh, shoulders slumping, his red cloak slipping down his arm.

                “What’s the point?” he asks.

                “What?” The word leaves Lance’s mouth in a horrified whisper. “What do you _mean_ what’s the point? Take the—”

                “ _Why?_ ” Keith pushes Lance’s hand, pushes the vial of medicine away from him. “So we can prolong the inevitable?”

                “Keith—”

                “I’m gonna die, Lance! There’s no way around it!” Keith’s voice rises to a shout, and he throws his hands up. “Why waste your time? Why waste another two days when we can get things over with _now?_ Because face it! There’s not enough medicine for me to make the trip, and even _if_ we manage to reach Daibazaal and face down Honerva, there’s no telling we survive _that!_ May as well spare yourself the heartache and just let it happen now.”

                The whole time Keith speaks, Lance shakes his head, feels the blood turn to ice in his veins. He carefully sets the vial back down in his bag and laughs bitterly.

                “So that’s it. You’re just giving up. Unbelievable.”

                He turns away from Keith, shields his whole body from his eyes so Keith doesn’t see the way his hands tremble, and his eyes suddenly sting, suddenly mist. He bites down hard on his lower lip and takes in a breath through his nose.

                “What?” Keith asks, indignant, angry. “You think I _want_ to die? Is that it?”

                _Of course not,_ Lance doesn’t get the chance to say, because Keith keeps going.

                “I don’t _want to fucking die,_ Lance! But it’d take a fucking miracle to avoid it! I fucked up, and now I’m paying for it, and I can’t…”

                Keith trails off, pauses for a moment, then blows out a frustrated breath. Then Lance hears more movement, hears the dirt and grass crunching underfoot. He whips around, as Keith staggers to his feet and throws his bag over his shoulder.

                “Where the hell are you going? You can’t _what?_ ” Lance demands.

                Keith hesitates, fingers tightening their grip on the strap of his bag just the slightest. “I have to do this myself. On my terms.”

                “That’s not what you were gonna say.” Lance’s voice is hard as he gets to his own feet, abandons his bag in the grass and takes a step toward Keith. “You can’t _what_ , Keith?”

                Keith’s foot shifts, like he’s going to try and run, until Lance’s hand shoots out and locks around his wrist. Keith’s eyes travel down to Lance’s grip, back up to his eyes, and for a moment Lance thinks he’s going to wrench away, and he’ll have to let go. But he doesn’t.

                “I can’t drag you down with me.”

                “What?”

                Lance’s grip goes slack, and Keith slips his hand free, and then turns his back on Lance, starts walking while Lance stands and gapes. Too many thoughts sprint through his head and he latches onto the one voice screaming above them all, the one urging him to _do something._

                So he does.

                Lance’s mouth curves down, into a concentrated scowl as he screws his eyes shut, reaches for the threads of his magic. They’re easy; they shimmer blue in his vision, bolstered by the river rushing behind him. He reaches, wraps fingers around them, and yanks.

                The air around Lance cools, and even with his eyes closed, he pinpoints the moment shadows fall over himself, and over Keith, who lets out a cry of alarm. Above it, the water’s roaring turns into a certain hissing.

                “What the fuck? Lance! Knock it off!”

                Lance opens his eyes and squints up at his handiwork, and the dome of water now enclosing this whole section of the woods. Slowly, he lets his arms drop back down to his sides, while Keith crosses his and turns back to Lance.

                “Lance.”

                “Nope, this is the only way I’m going to get you to _listen to me,_ Hothead,” Lance retorts, and walks all the way up until he’s in Keith’s space. “ _Drag me down with you?_ Were you even listening to yourself?” He sets his hands on Keith’s shoulders, while Keith stares at the ground. His face, pale with sickness, flushes.

                “You don’t get to decide this for me,” Lance says. “We didn’t ask to get attacked by those druids, and you didn’t ask to have your powers taken. But it happened, and I was with you then, and I’m with you now.” Keith opens his mouth, until Lance places a hand over it. “Hush. Not done. You said we need a miracle to get your powers back and keep you alive, so you think this is it. You think it’s not even worth chancing. But we needed a miracle to get away from the druids, too, and you know what? We got one. We got out alive. We can pull it off again. _Together_.”

                He slowly pulls his hand away from Keith’s mouth, this time, and Keith shakes his head. “Miracles don’t happen twice, and you told me not to pull that stunt I did. We could’ve tried something else and found a better solution. This is my fault.”

                Keith hangs his head, and Lance scowls. Brings a hand underneath Keith’s chin and pushes his head back up until they’ve locked eyes again.

                “You stubborn ass,” Lance mutters, and then raises his voice. “Yeah, okay, fine. You’re impulsive and you’re reckless, and you did this to yourself! Fine! Think that, if you want. Be wrong. Or maybe be right! Who knows? What _I_ know is that I can’t let you go out there by yourself so you can die alone, alright?”

                “Lance—”

                “You pulled that stunt to protect me,” Lance keeps going. “Let me be here and protect you.”

                Keith’s eyes water, and Lance watches a single tear break free and trail down his cheek, as Keith collapses forward into his arms, legs giving out underneath him. Lance catches him, and slowly brings him back to the ground, cradles him close to his chest.

                “Kosmo,” Lance calls, and Kosmo, who’s been very contentedly licking the wall of water and pretending not to be listening to the conversation, turns and cocks his head. Lance tilts his own head back and nods toward his bag. “Get me a vial, will ya?”

                Kosmo’s tail wags, and he poofs out of existence, and then rematerializes several feet behind Lance. He noses around in his bag until he finds the vial, and then teleports to Lance’s side. Lance carefully takes the vial from him and holds it in front of Keith’s face.

                “Keith, please.” Lance’s voice drops, much quieter and softer than before. “You still have a chance. I’m not giving up on you yet. You can’t do that to yourself, either.”

                His throat bobs, while Keith stares a moment, and then nods. Shaking fingers take the vial from Lance and uncap it, and Keith downs the contents in one go, and then hands the empty glass back to Lance. He sets it down in the grass, while Kosmo wordlessly takes it up and poofs, to return it back to Lance’s bag. Meanwhile, Lance stretches his legs out in front of himself, while Keith drapes over in his lap, his back supported by one of Lance’s arms.

                Lance pushes Keith’s bangs out of his face, away from his forehead, and drops a kiss there.

                Once the medicine takes, in about half an hour, he’ll get another wind, something else to keep them going. They both need rest, but Keith more desperately so. As Lance stares down at him, he wonders how far he can push himself—if he can sacrifice a few hours of sleep each night to cut down their journey time. He can just carry Keith along...yeah, that’ll work, and they can make it to Daibazaal.

                “I’m so sorry,” Keith whispers then, and draws Lance out of his thoughts.

                Lance’s heart climbs into his throat and joins the lump there, as he finds Keith’s face even wetter than before, his words choked up by sobs.

                “I don’t wanna die, Lance.”

                “Shhh, shhh,” Lance hushes him. “I know, Keith. I know. I’m not gonna let you.”

                “You can’t prom—”

                “I can and I will.” Lance traces a thumb over Keith’s cheek, still so much cooler than he’s used to. He’s used to fire burning underneath his skin, a river of flame in his blood. Not...this. “You’re going to live, I’m going to make certain of that. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

                He leans down, presses his lips against Keith’s, while Keith cups the back of his head and pulls him, tugs on his shirt until they can’t get any closer.

                Regardless of the last few minutes, they kiss each other like it might be the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my defense i had this written before everything went down on twitter abt the afterbuzz interview (if u didn't catch that: lm & jds wanted to kill off: shiro, then keith when they couldn't kill shiro, then hunk as a redemption arc for acxa, they mentioned killing pidge so she could die for her family, at one point they wanted to kill ALL THE PALADINS),,, so like,,,,,, SORRY FOR THE ANGST THEY JUST CAN'T KEEP THEIR MOUTHS SHUT WHEN THEY SHOULD
> 
> anyway
> 
> i wanna make this oneshot/the other oneshot into a full-fledged fic BUT  
> -i wanna finish soopits first  
> -by the time i finish that idk if the fandom will even be interested anymore so like
> 
> i dunno man
> 
> see u tomorrow for the last day!!


	28. failure isn't an option

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: free day au of choice  
> alternate universe: [royalty](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1071640177326637056)  
> characters: lance, keith, matt, rachel; mentioned hunk, pidge, krolia, james, lotor  
> relationships: keith/lance  
> other tags: prince keith, knight lance, knight matt, knight rachel, prince lotor, prince james, shenanigans, undercover bullshit, secret relationship  
>  **trigger warnings for talk of murder/assassination**
> 
> in which lance enters a competition for keith's hand...without telling keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> go click that link up there, it's a thread that explains what the hell is going on
> 
> this is yet another thing i wanna make a full-fledged fic that i don't have time to make a full-fledged fic
> 
> have fun!!

                Keith is thoroughly pissed at something, Lance gathers that much.

                Lance trails behind his prince with a hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning about the halls—checking the rafters, constantly looking over his shoulder. He doesn’t bother trying to see ahead of Keith, because even with all of Lance’s protection, Keith’s perfectly capable of defending himself, and even wears a sword of his own, 24/7.

                As expected, this wing of the palace is empty.

                Its entrance is heavily guarded; only those with express permission from the prince have the ability to enter. Lance, by default of being Keith’s personal guard, is pretty much the only person aside from the queen with that level of clearance.

                He stares at the rod-straight set to Keith’s spine, the way his fingers dig into the side of his hand as he clasps them together behind his back, the way he tips his chin so his crown isn’t falling into his face like it usually is (like Lance usually teases him about, like he doesn’t know Keith’s creating another excuse to have Lance’s gentle hands and slender fingers near his face).

                He doesn’t turn around when they reach the door at the end of the hall. Doesn’t turn around when he opens it and steps inside. He stops at the foot of his bed and finally unclasps his hands, and braces himself against the bed frame.

                Lance knows better than to approach. He closes the door, and then stands just a few feet in front of it, plenty of space between himself and Keith.

                He waits. He waits for Keith to right himself again, waits for him to turn around and stalk up to him with a severe set to his jaw, his gray-blue eyes stormy. Lance swallows thickly as he stares at them, skies he’s spent hours getting lost in—

                “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

                Lance blinks. Slowly. Immediately, he knows what Keith’s talking about, or is fairly certain of it. But there’s that tiny margin of error that doesn’t make him immediately give in.

                “My Prince,” Lance addresses, because he has a feeling Keith will correct him if he says _Your Royal Highness,_ the way he’s corrected Lance from day one, but just _Keith_ seems too informal and too flippant for the situation at hand, “with all due respect...may I ask what you’re referring to?”

                “You can’t bullshit me, _Sir Lance_ ,” Keith snips. “I figured, when your _sister_ didn’t want to kiss me, even when there wasn’t anyone else around, something was up. After all, it’s not like you to abandon your post, now, is it?”

                As Keith speaks, he walks forward, invades Lance’s space with crossed arms until Lance is pressed up against the door.

                “Joining the competition? Really? Without even bothering to _tell me?_ And then switching out my personal guard, the person I’ve _entrusted my life to,_ without warning? _And_ having your fellow soldiers and friends cover for you? That’s _reckless_ and—and if there’d been an attack—”

                “I didn’t realize _you_ were such a stickler for rules, Mister _I Don’t Wanna Marry Another Royal I Wanna Marry My Guard_ and _I Wanna Get Rid of This Whole Competition While I Have Enemy Competitors Within the Walls of My Castle Even Though Getting Rid of It Would Piss Them Off and Incline Them To Try and Take My Life!_ ” Lance counters, and pushes away from the door. His chest bumps into Keith’s arms, and Keith’s glare deepens. For a moment, Lance holds his gaze, and then glances down at their closeness and takes a step back.

                “And for the record,” he says, voice quieter this time, “I knew you’d react badly if I told you, and believe it or not, I’m doing it for your safety.”

                “Really?” Keith asks, squints, cocks his head. “And you’re not doing it because you’re a dolt who wants my hand?”

                “I already have your hand,” Lance points out, and then lets his eyes wander over the rest of Keith, back up to his face, and then winks, “and the rest of you.” He pauses while Keith groans, uncrosses his arms, buries his face in his hands while his crown finally slips down his head. “But.”

                Keith raises his head, in time for Lance to reach out and adjust his crown. For all his glaring earlier, for his steely gaze and stiff posture, Keith leans into his touch. Lance touches his cheek when he’s done fixing the crown, and Keith lifts his hand and holds it over Lance’s.

                “But,” Lance repeats, “in all seriousness, I entered the competition to keep you safe, first and foremost. I didn’t want you worrying about _my_ safety, so I didn’t tell you. I thought I’d be able to switch back and forth between downtime, so that you wouldn’t be left alone with Rachel, but...guess I miscalculated.”

                “Big time,” Keith says. “You should’ve said something, I could’ve helped—”

                Lance shakes his head. “You couldn’t have. The other competitors have eyes and ears all over the palace, sneaking around or in disguise. If they found out you were throwing the competition to help one competitor in particular, they’d call you out, declare war, and then try to kill you. As it is…”

                Lance’s voice catches in his throat. He’s already spent multiple nights awake with this information plaguing him, as he tried to figure out how to go about it—whether he tried to eliminate his competitors himself, stage an _accident,_ go to his fellow guards, or tell Keith or the queen. For the last few nights, he hasn’t been _able_ to tell Keith.

                “Lance, don’t make me pull out the prince card,” Keith says, and earns a light snort from his guard, despite the situation. “What is it?”

                Lance takes in another breath, reaches up his other hand to fully frame Keith’s face.

                His other competitors’ words come flooding back to him in bursts of gore, bursts of violence. In the back of his mind Lance can hear Keith screaming—war cries, cries of pain, begging for mercy—while he can see bruises blossom on his skin, cuts tear open…

                “There are at least two plots to assassinate you,” Lance admits, and presses his forehead against Keith’s. “Prince Lotor and Prince James. There might be more, but those are the two I’ve heard of. If they win the competition, their aim is to marry you and then kill you and your mother after, and ascend the throne. If they don’t win...they’ll likely take you out, and your mother, and probably whoever wins.”

                Keith doesn’t respond to that—not right away.

                He releases a breath that tickles Lance’s face, meets Lance’s eyes head-on and searches them. Lance doesn’t even know what he’s looking for; he’s not sure if he’ll ever know, because at that moment, there’s sharp rapping on the door. Almost immediately, the two of them leap back, separate from each other, and in seconds, Lance has his sword in his hands. He stalks toward the door first, sword out, other arm up and blocking Keith from even trying to step in front of him.

                Slowly, cautiously, he stands just a foot or so in front of the door, and calls, “State your name and business!”

                “Uh, Sir Holt, and Sir McClain...the other Sir McClain.”

                _Well, he already knows._ With a sigh, Lance lets his shoulders drop and opens the door, and Matt and another knight, helmet masking their face, pause in the doorway as they take in the sight of Lance, very obviously with Keith at the moment.

                “Oh, shit,” Matt says, “Uh— _oh fuck,_ uh—Your Royal Highness—”

                “Drop the formality,” Keith and Lance say at the same time, and trade another glance, while Matt nods, and the other knight takes off their helmet. A dark braid tumbles down their back, and azure eyes that match Lance’s look between the other three occupants of the room.

                “Prince Keith,” they address, but Keith lifts a hand.

                “Lance explained everything,” Keith says. “Although I still have no idea who’s posing as his competitor during dinners, considering I _know_ Lance has been at my side for those…”

                He side-eyes Lance, who shrugs. “Rachel also. Shay has a few friends who helped to change her appearance just enough to be unrecognizable. We’ve been trading. She has all the armor-off events, I take the ones with armor on. Nobody knows the difference. Or...y’know...nobody knew.”

                Keith crosses his arms. “It makes sense, now. If we’re speaking openly in front of Matt, I take it he’s in on the plan as well.”

                “And Hunk and Pidge,” Lance admits, and rubs his arm while Keith stiffens. Matt covers up his mouth to stifle a snicker while Rachel becomes suddenly interested in the patterns of the artwork on the ceiling.

                “ _Anyway_ ,” Matt jumps in, before Keith can have an aneurysm, “I came back here because someone said Lance was back here.” He nods to the knight in question. “The next competition’s in twenty minutes. You’ve gotta take that armor off and get your other armor on.”

                “Thank you, Matt. You’re dismissed. Rachel, take up post outside the door. I’ll be out in a moment,” Lance responds, and Matt and Rachel both turn and salute Lance with two fingers, then spin on their heels and head out, shut the door behind them, leave Lance alone with Keith.

                “All of our friends knew, huh?” Keith asks.

                Lance turns back to him. “Yeah. Keith, I swear, I meant—”

                “I know,” Keith interrupts, and places his hands on Lance’s hips and draws him in, and snakes his arms around Lance’s waist when he’s close enough. “I know what you meant. I’ll have to warn my mother...and devise a lie about how this information came to light. Meanwhile, _you_ have a new job to do.”

                “I’m listening,” Lance says, wrapping his arms around Keith’s neck.

                “You have to win this competition now,” Keith says. “There’s a chance we call it off, but assassination plots were likely to come with it to begin with. More likely than not, the competition goes on. _You’re_ going to come out victorious, do you understand me? Failure isn’t an option.”

                Right. Because failure—failing the competition, failing to bring down Prince Lotor and Prince James and whoever else aims to assassinate the royal family, failing to protect his prince—means losing him.

                Lance tilts his head and presses his mouth against Keith’s, and Keith reciprocates without a beat of hesitation. There’s the smallest bit of desperation in it, and Lance hesitates to let go, and only does so because Keith does.

                “I swore my life to you the day I became your guard,” Lance says, and closes his eyes, wishes he could feel Keith’s heartbeat through his armor, wishes he could do so at night, wishes he could do so in public, at dinner, around the palace whenever they desire. “I gave my heart to you the night we confessed. And you’ve had my loyalty from day one.” Day one, when Keith begged the queen to let Lance come to their palace and train up as a knight, because as seventh in line for the throne back home, he didn’t stand a chance. “Your wish is my command, and I carry out my duty with honor.”

                Keith kisses him one more time, far too brief for Lance’s liking.

                “You have a mission to fulfill,” he whispers, and then releases Lance and pushes him toward the door. “Go.”

                So Lance squares his shoulders, and he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that's it for kl au month
> 
> -stan [deceit so natural](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406) for a complete trilogy, canon-divergent post-s2, i could very well make a case that voltron literally ripped me off (yeah, remember how sendak died? i did that first, like exactly that)  
> -stan [stealing our own place in the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441) for me rewriting the entire series after season 3. "season 4" is currently available in full and includes a musical episode, so there's that.
> 
> if u want more of this dazzling personality, follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener) if u don't already, it's where i'm literally always active
> 
> thanks for reading along and i hope u enjoyed the month!!! also thank u again sher for creating these prompts!!!!!


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